


Fox & Tengu

by Feynite



Series: Sharkbait [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Other, Rimming, Sex Magic, Tails, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 48,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite
Summary: There are times when needs must.And in the fog of his rut, he can scarcely think clearly about left or right. Up or down. He does not think twice, when Uthvir finally falls upon him, about wrapping his tail around them and summoning his fox fire to carry them both to his home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this crazy thing features OC's of mine (originally from Looking Glass, my Dragon Age fic), some Japanese folkloric elements (I have no claim on any of them and are using them purely in an aping of popular media, like anime), heat cycle smut, and the enabling of a very good friend whose interest in my shenanigans is frankly more than I deserve.
> 
> Please enjoy! Also know that Uthvir's pronouns are very deliberately they/them and, in case it gets unclear, they are additionally (unrelated to their gender identity) a shape-shifter who can change a number of things at will, including their genitalia. While this obviously has utility in a sexy-funtimes context, it's not meant to be fetishistic. They're just a nonbinary shapeshifter with a healthy libido and a ridiculous fixation on looking Spiky and Cool.

 

 

 

Thenvunin’s home inside the Spirit World is not an elaborate place.

 

For a Fox of his age, it is… well. Not typical. It signals his lack of personal success and power, which can in turn make him something of a target. So Thenvunin does not often bring outsiders here as guests. The boundaries of his household do not extend far beyond a small garden, with a single decorative pear tree. Beyond that there are only visible wisps and clouds of ephemera, denoting the walls that separate it from the rest of the Spirit World, and from the mortal realms, too.

 

If Thenvunin were to accumulate more power, he could make his household bigger. He would be able to afford servants and attendants, even. The households of some Foxes his age rival the estates of grand nobles in the mortal world.

 

But not Thenvunin’s. Thenvunin’s own is small, without many walls or external wings. The bedroom is partitioned off from the main room by a simple screen. There are no servants; there would be no space to house them, and truthfully, no real need for them to attend so small and humble a building. Thenvunin would honestly __never__  bring guests here, but…

 

There are times when needs must.

 

And in the fog of his rut, he can scarcely think clearly about left or right. Up or down. He does not think twice, when Uthvir finally falls upon him, about wrapping his tail around them and summoning his fox fire to carry them both to his home.

 

His Tengu suitor flaps their wings once, in surprise. But then they seem to realize what he has done, and only look around curiously for a moment. Thenvunin hardly wants them peering at his house, though, and so he grasps them firmly and draws them inside. Away from the small garden and its lone, sad tree, and past the interior screens, to the single mat placed upon the bare floor. They might as well get it over and done with. Thenvunin has found it is better to have a partner for these things, even with the costs to his dignity. And even __if__  said partner is the sort of disreputable spirit he would be repulsed by, in a better frame of mind.

 

Uthvir still pauses and looks around of their accord. Taking in the sparsely decorated walls. The lights are all Thenvunin’s own doing. Well, the doing of his presence, anyway. He does not have to focus his magic on keeping the fox fire in the sconces burning. They just draw on the natural energy of his presence, and fill the house with a glow like moonlight.

 

With a snap of his fingers, he deliberately puts them out.

 

“I did not bring you here to __snoop,”__  he says, as his tail lashes in agitation behind him. His skin is all but burning, and he has been hard for long enough already. He is __aching,__  and the potions he took to help ease the way have been in effect for three hours. More than enough time to settle in. He opens up the front of his robe, and frees more of his pheromones into the air between them. In the dark, he can still see Uthvir’s nose twitch.

 

“I cannot see you very well,” they tell him.

 

“You can see well enough for __this,”__  Thenvunin insists.

 

Uthvir finally turns back towards him, and moves a little closer.

 

“Oh?” they say. “And what precisely is ‘this’? Do not tell me you brought me to your home with __lustful designs__  on my person!”

 

Thenvunin’s face heats with embarrassment as much as arousal. That low tone of their voice is absolutely __infuriating.__  The way it makes his nerves spark and sinks right down to his loins, it is absolutely ridiculous, they must be putting some kind of spell or affectation on but he cannot see __how,__  and in his current state of being it is all he can do to not pounce. His tail betrays him anyway, of course. Unruly thing. It presses up against the side of Uthvir’s leg.

 

“Do not feign ignorance,” he growls at them. “Your designs on me are clear enough. And needs must; so you are in luck, __Tengu.__  In this state, I can scarcely resist even you.”

 

“Stop, stop, the flattery is too much,” Uthvir drawls. Their eyes glint in what little light from the outside makes its way in through Thenvunin’s moon-shaped window. And their wings nearly fill up the room, as their nose twitches again, and they finally press him down to the sleeping mat below them. Their fingers find his belt. Thenvunin leans back and closes his eyes, braces himself for the inevitable rush of ripped clothing and scratched thighs, for the sting of their teeth against his skin, the press of their cock to his backside. His heat never makes his lovers gentle, and Uthvir has been free enough with their teeth and claws in their past trysts. If a noble and disciplined warrior like Sethtaren could not keep his head during Thenvunin’s cycle, he knows that some disreputable Tengu is going to tax his healing powers.

 

Uthvir undoes his belt with their fingers. They inhale sharply as his full scent strikes them. His tail keeps brushing up against them. Thenvunin feels their breath caress his skin, as they press a kiss to his collarbone. He braces for the press of teeth, but there is only the hot, wet slide of their lips and tongue. They taste him, trailing slowly down his exposed chest, as their hand push his clothes out of their way. His robe ends up bunched around his arms, until Thenvunin summons enough prescience to sit up a little and fling it away. His skin feels too hot for it. It feels too hot for __anything,__  but somehow the molten press of Uthvir’s mouth is a relief.

 

And then they keep heading downwards. Their wings still filling up the room, as they hitch up his hips, and spread his thighs.

 

“Just get on with it!” Thenvunin growls. He cannot - he __can’t__  - in this state he cannot help himself. He opens his eyes in the same moment that Uthvir closes a hand around his shaft and licks the head of his cock, and the sight of them wrings a gasp from his throat. His tail curls up and wraps around their shoulders, and draws them closer as they look directly at him, and gradually swallow him down. Taking him into the same wet heat that had gently marked his chest. But this time, he can feel the points of their teeth. Just faintly. Teasingly.

 

He smacks his hand against the bedroom wall to steady himself, and lets out a sound that would only ever escape him in throes of his rut.

 

 

~

 

 

Uthvir had heard about the reputation of Foxes, of course.

 

It is not an easy reputation to __avoid__  hearing about. Though Uthvir generally also makes it their business to know virtually everyone’s reputation, insofar as they can. Foxes are known for their promiscuity, of course. They have sex magic and trickery. They can addle the minds and cloud the thoughts of mortals and weaker spirits, and like the moon, they are subject to cycles. They are renowned for being the best of bed partners. Catching one in the heights of their most lustful stage is considered equal parts fortunate or, if one is not particularly powerful or careful, dangerous.

 

Thenvunin is by far the strangest Fox that Uthvir has ever met.

 

They have been puzzling for __months__  over this strange, self-contradictory, fickle, prickly Fox, who may or may not be seducing them. If all his odd behaviour has been part of a ploy to catch their attention, then Uthvir would consider it a job well done. But somehow, they do not think that is actually the case.

 

Still, the reputation of Foxes seems to maintain __some__  merit, as they do not think they could possibly resist Thenvunin right now. Their jaw is sore from four rounds of sucking him off, and their fingers are tired from thrusting inside of him. But with each passing moment he seems to lose the last of his prickly reservations. And the scent of him, the __sight__  of him - well. They have been more grateful for their night vision, but only when it saved their life.

 

They let him come in their mouth a fifth time, and finally pull their lips off of his length. It has not gone down since all of this started, and despite the seed they can taste on their tongue, it shows no signs of softening even now. But any more and they will cramp their jaw, and might do him some harm with the friction, too. Thenvunin presses his hips down against the fingers still inside of him, before letting out a low growl, and flipping himself onto his stomach.

 

“Enough __teasing,”__  he insists, in a ragged voice. “What are you even doing? Do not tell me you have somehow forgotten how to fuck _ _.”__

 

Uthvir’s mouth goes dry, and their eyebrows fly up. Their own arousal certainly does not need much more of an invitation, as Thenvunin’s tail curls backwards and he presents himself so blatantly. His hands fist into the material of his bedroll. Uthvir takes a moment to shrug off the last of their own clothes - it just seems impolite otherwise, somehow; and they know the two of them are quite alone here - before they spread his thighs wider, and guide themselves to his wet, soft entrance.

 

“Are you certain?” they nevertheless ask, more teasing than anything. His invitation would be hard to mistake. They part his cheeks with their free hand, and dig their nails into the ample flesh. Thenvunin lets out a growl that turns, in moments, to a whine.

 

“ _ _Please,”__  he begs.

 

The word sinks through them and sets them aflame. It makes their wings flare, makes some of their magic actually spark into the air. They almost feel sorry for making him ask, except that they don’t, not really, not ever - the tone of his voice is too scintillating, the call of his desire too enticing. They thrust into him, and he is so ready that they meet no resistance at all. Just slick heat and and a snug channel, that compels them to snap their hips more urgently than they meant to. But their passage remains easy, and Thenvunin’s whine turns swiftly into encouraging gasps and moans, as he rocks his hips back towards their thrusts.

 

His tail curls over their shoulder. Uthvir grips his hip with one hand, and sinks their fingers into his tail with the other. A whispered spell and some stray motes of magic begin to traverse through the fur of it. Uthvir is not actually versed in sex magic, but they know some spells that are stimulating enough. The little sparks in the fur seem to have a good effect, anyway, as Thenvunin’s gasps turn more throaty, and his hips move more urgently.

 

The feel of him is just… they cannot bite back a growl of their own as they take him. The rising heat in their own loins bids them go faster. Harder.

 

 _ _Claim him.__  

 

They thrust into him until his thighs are trembling, until they need both hands just to keep him up. They do not realize that he has come until they see the spatters on the mat beneath them; and then it is just in time to see him come __again,__  his flushed cock bouncing beneath them as the cheap floorboards creak, and their pleasure builds like a lit rocket.

 

They fold their wings around the both of them, and hilt themselves inside of him before they come with a cry of their own.

 

Their vision whites out for a second, their whole body tingling with the rush and pleasure of culmination. It steals their breath. Leaves their throat dry and their limbs trembling, better than it ever has been before.

 

__What in…?_ _

 

Ah, but, they suppose that would be part of the reputation, wouldn’t it? Sex magic, and all.

 

Thenvunin makes a soft sound, and they regain enough sense to pull out of him. He growls in complaint at that. Uthvir snorts back at him, but still takes a moment to check him over. His chest heaves with his breaths - so does theirs, actually - and even his tail seems a bit tired, now, as it flops to the side. And finally, his erection goes down, as they help settle him back against the mat. They would angle for a clean patch, but. Well.

 

...At least it is all still warm.

 

“Well that was an experience,” they say. Their own voice sounds low and raspy in their ears.

 

Thenvunin reaches up and pulls them down on top of him. It's a move they are not expecting in the least. It nearly gets him an uppercut to the jaw, before they catch their own reflexes and hol themselves back. But as they freeze in a moment of stalled reactions, the Fox folds his arms around them. He buries his nose into their hair, and sinks his fingers into the feathers at the base of their wings. Their primaries flutter in response. That area is __sensitive,__  and Uthvir has cut off arms for less presumptuous transgressions.

 

This time, though, they can only feel something in them come a bit loose. Something ragged and ill-treated, as Thenvunin’s fingers brush across the numbed flesh of deep-buried scars, and draw a shiver from them as he parts feathers. The ones that are hardest for them to groom themselves; the ones most liable to itch and ache.

 

What is…?

 

They swallow. Thenvunin makes an odd, warbly sort of sound in his chest - not quite a growl, not exactly a purr - and gently pets their feathers.

 

…Uthvir supposes they can allow it, so long as he does not try and twist or yank them. But of all the things people said of Foxes, post coital __cuddling__  had somehow never managed to come up.

 

 

~

 

 

The rut builds.

 

Thenvunin loses all of his senses. Because of course he does. Except for the ones he keeps, but well, they really aren’t anywhere near enough to hold him back from the animalistic call of his urges. His cursed nature. And this time seems stranger than any before, as Uthvir tends to him with appalling __thoroughness.__  Indulging their lusts in a way that… that… that Thenvunin of course can only attribute to their sexual depravity, and wide range of appetites.

 

They do not even cast him aside when they are finished sating themselves. The first time he thinks they might be doing such a thing, they come back only a few minutes later. Carrying a water jug and two cups, and a plate of preserves he had left here… oh, ages ago, it must have been. But nothing rots here, not unless Thenvunin is injured or dying. He has no desire to eat, but Uthvir still cajoles him into drinking. He no longer has any reservations about reaching for them, though, and after a moment he pushes the tray aside and pulls them to him instead.

 

“Please,” he says, because the word seems to work so __well__  on them. “Please, please, Uthvir, sweet Uthvir, I need to feel you inside of me again.”

 

“You need to eat something,” the infuriating Tengu insists, twisting in his grasp. “It has been hours over hours.”

 

“Time doesn’t matter here,” Thenvunin says. It is a half truth, but not entirely a lie. He licks his lips.

 

“Oh yes it does. Do not treat me like a mortal,” Uthvir growls. But they also turn towards him, and pin him down. Thenvunin whines and rocks his hips towards them, needy, so appallingly hungry for the feel of them. He would say anything, __do__  anything. He does not resist as they pick up a length of rope from the curtains, though something inside of him quails at the thought of blows and choking, pain and punishment. Another plea escapes his lips. This one slightly different in tone.

 

Uthvir pauses, and then leans down and kisses his forehead.

 

“I am going to tie your hands,” they say. “You are getting up to too much mischief with them.”

 

“Anything you want,” he agrees. “Just please do not leave me again. I need you.”

 

Uthvir pauses. They look struck, and Thenvunin only has enough mental wherewithal to hope that it is in the good way. He reaches for them again. They catch his hand, but they do not dig in their claws, or hiss a rebuke; or tell him he is pathetic. Instead their gaze softens, somehow. Their hands are firm but not harsh as they bind his arms, and they stop to brush a hand across his cheek.

 

“I will look after you,” they promise.

 

He rocks his hips upwards, even as something inside of him almost… eases, at that.

 

“ _ _Please,”__  he tries again. Why is it not working anymore?!

 

But this time seems to do it, as Uthvir settles themselves on top of him. Their fingers drift towards his mouth. Thenvunin seizes the opportunity, and sucks them between his lips. Running his tongue over their digits, tasting some sweet remnant of the preserves as they trap him with their thighs. Their flushed cock presses against his own. But his efforts to rock his hips up against them are stymied by the startlingly firm weight of their body atop his own. Their eyes fall to his mouth, and they lick their own lips, before pulling their fingers out.

 

They drag the tray closer to the both of them. A wriggle of their hips, and the electric heat of their cock pressing to his vanishes as they change shape. Replacing their cock with damp, inviting folds of velvet-soft flesh, that rest snugly against his arousal. The scent of them intensifies.

 

He twists in his ropes as it makes his skin heat even more. The urgency, the __need__ , grows. It spikes even further as Uthvir manhandles him, and gains only some relief when they shift their hips up and start to take him into themselves.

 

They bite their bottom lip, and stare at him intently while they do.

 

Thenvunin feels near dizzy with the sense of them enveloping him. He did not even know they could __do__  that. _He_  cannot do that! What a strange thing, to think a Tengu would have such skills that a Fox does not. But then he can scarcely think of anything as they lower themselves fully on top of him, and stop to lift up their tray.

 

“Eat a bite,” they say.

 

“ _ _Uthvir,”__  he whines.

 

“Eat a bite, and I will move my hips,” they promise him.

 

Thenvunin opens his mouth. Their fingers move to his lips again. The piece of fruit is sweet and soft, and slides easily down his throat. He licks the juices from their softened fingertips, and is rewarded when they angle themselves up, and then take him in again. The electric feeling drags a shameless moan from him.

 

“Good,” Uthvir murmurs, in a tone that fills him with appalling pleasure. “Another bite, and I will move again.”

 

Their own voice sounds a little strained, though. Thenvunin obediently parts his lips. But this time, when they move, he is ready for it; and he moves, too. Rising up to meet them, and pulling a stuttering breath from them in return. His gaze goes hooded, as his magic curls around them. He squirms enough to get his tail free, and wraps it around their waist. Teasing their chest with the tip of it.

 

“This will take an awfully long time,” he purrs.

 

Uthvir raises an eyebrow. Their wingtips flutter. They resolutely lift another piece of fruit.

 

“You are not going anywhere,” they counter. Thenvunin whines a little, but accepts the offered bite. It is worth it, to feel them move again. He is so pent up he feels like he might burst; the last round ended long ago, and Uthvir left, and now he __needs__  to come again, but they are being so __bossy.__  He does his best to entice them. Throwing his head back, and saying their name. Begging them to put aside the platter and just __take him,__  but they get through a dozen more bites before Uthvir picks up the water again.

 

They drink a mouthful themselves. Then they take another mouthful, and lean in. And kiss the drink right to his lips.

 

Thenvunin nearly grimaces, expecting the taste of spit and salt. But somehow, water from the Tengu’s mouth tastes like the kind that flows from fresh mountain streams. He actually enjoys the next mouthful. And then the next, but he can only resist so much, and before they pull away again he slips his tongue between their lips. Their mouth tastes __cool__ , now. Soothing and sweet, as their trick becomes Thenvunin’s kiss. He rocks his hips up, and finally their impossible restraint seems to crack.

 

They kiss him ardently, with that river-tasting mouth of theirs. They slide up, and then bring their hips back down, until they are riding him in earnest. Building the pleasure up and up, until he reaches his peak. He comes inside of them, a rush of satisfaction that lasts but a moment before the heat presses in again, and he needs __more.__  But Uthvir is still going - beautiful, wonderful Uthvir, with their bright kisses and strong legs and wings that cover the both of them as they move atop him. Their mingled scents building and building, and finally coming together in a crash of desires.

 

Uthvir sighs.

 

Thenvunin still needs more.

 

They slide off of him. But at his sound of protest, they pat his hip. He watches as they change shape again; their flesh seems less spent, now.

 

 _ _Useful,__  is all he cant think. Yes, this will be useful, they can change shapes and then they will not get so tired, will not have to pause so often…

 

“Keep going,” he pleads.

 

They angle his hips upwards, and stroke themselves to hardness against him.

 

“As you wish,” they reply.

 

~

 

 

How long, Uthvir wonders, do these sorts of things usually last for?

 

They have lost count of the rounds, though they have tried their best to keep track of the time. It has been days, they know. Less than a week, but not by much. They have managed to give Thenvunin food and water, to relieve themselves and guide him to the water closet when he must do the same. Things have - mercifully - slowed down some, but they do not show any times of stopping, either. Both of them have slept, intermittently. Thenvunin still gets aroused in his sleep, and tends to move against them when that happens. Uthvir does not mind - by no means do they mind the fantastic marathon sex - but it requires some… managing.

 

They had not been entirely prepared to throw an entire week to the wind and spend it fucking an insatiable Thenvunin.

 

Not, again, that they are complaining. But a little forewarning would not have gone amiss.

 

And the cuddling remains a… thing.

 

Uthvir would complain, but obviously, Thenvunin is not in his right state of mind. So there is not much for it but to permit him to run his fingers through their feathers and hair, and snuggle up against them whenever exhaustion wins out over his libido. Hugging him back seems to help his ‘relaxed’ time last a little longer. So it is pure pragmatism to put their wings around him, as well as their arms, and block the moonlight from his tired face.

 

The both of them sorely need baths, though.

 

Thenvunin stirs from his place wrapped around them. They took the ropes off of him again, to keep from damaging his limbs. But it means he is free to slide his hands across their skin, as he kisses the underside of their jaw.

 

“Uthvir,” he murmurs. “Take me.”

 

They sigh, and brush a trembling hand against his hair. Everything is spent, and slightly sore.

 

“You have tired me all out,” they admit. “I do not think I can move just yet.”

 

Thenvunin makes his sound of complaint. Their loins give a solid effort at responding. After a moment, Uthvir sighs again, and shifts their lower shape to an inwards one. They spread their legs wider; inviting. Wondering if Thenvunin will take the invitation, as he mouths lazily at their skin. They would not ordinarily permit such liberties, but right now they find themselves too tired to care. Let him satisfy himself this round. Their muscles are all shaky, in a way they are accustomed to only feeling in their wings after long, __long__  flights.

 

Thenvunin pauses, and seems a bit befuddled by their change.

 

“Go on,” they say, mustering up enough energy to raise an eyebrow at him. “You want it, you can do it this time.”

 

He looks a them strangely. The lust is still clouding his gaze; but not entirely.

 

“Do not offer Foxes such things,” he says. His voice is low, and surprisingly coherent. Clear. “Not when we are like this. We cannot control ourselves.”

 

Uthvir has no idea what to make of that.

 

“I am not asking for your restraint,” they say. “Besides, you are nearly as tired as I am. Go ahead; if you hurt me, I will just use magic to knock you away.”

 

Thenvunin hesitates, still. Uthvir wraps their legs around his waist, and he makes a breathy sound. His hips rock towards them. But rather than push his way inside, he instead ends up just tiredly thrusting against their skin. His cock rubs at the juncture of their thighs, sliding over the sticky remnants of their last rounds, as he grips them close. His mouth latches onto the side of their neck.

 

Uthvir blinks at the feel of Thenvunin’s own sharp canines pressing there. They wonder if he will bite them.

 

Well, turn around is fair play, they suppose.

 

But at the last moment he gasps and pulls back. They think he is coming; but he keeps thrusting without pause, and they do not feel his seed against their skin. He bites the filthy bed mat beside them instead, and rocks against them until he finally does come, some minutes later.

 

His bite on the mat eases, and leaves behind some tiny puncture marks.

 

His arousal actually goes down, to Uthvir’s surprise. After one round?

 

Maybe things __are__  slowing down, at that.

 

They run a hand up his back, and feel his tail flop against them. Their legs fall back down, too exhausted to do much else.

 

“Well done,” they murmur.

 

He sighs, and turns his face back towards them. Pressing a surprise kiss to their shoulder.

 

“Be more careful,” he says, before drifting off to sleep again.

 

Uthvir is still puzzling over his sentiments, long after the fog of arousal has lifted from Thenvunin in earnest, and he has all but chased them from the walls of his quaint little house.

 

 

~

 

 

Uthvir is resting in their favourite tree when the branch in front of them catches fire.

 

Not fire-fire, thankfully. The purple foxfire gleams and dances without actually billowing smoke, or devouring the branch in front of them, or even letting off much heat. Good. This is Uthvir’s favourite tree, in a region they have long been named Guardian of. They would have to take unpleasant action if someone actually damaged it.

 

After a moment, the foxfire goes out. They sit up, and rustle their feathers, and then look down. Their lips twitch as they see Thenvunin standing beneath their tree. Dressed in rather nice clothing, and glowering up at them as if they have offended him.

 

“Thenvunin!” they call down, far more happily than they had meant to. They twist their lips into a smirk, and give him a lingering once-over. “What a pleasant surprise!”

 

The man’s scowl deepens, as he folds his arms.

 

“And just __what__ do you think you are doing?” he asks.

 

Uthvir raises an eyebrow, and hops down from their branch. They unfurl their wings and flap just once, easing their landing.

 

“Well I did think that I was resting in my favourite tree,” they tell him, before they begin to circle around him. He looks good. Healthy. He has some colour in his cheeks. “But now I am not so certain. Is anything amiss?”

 

“Amiss?!” Thenvunin demands. His tail twitches, and his ears flick in the direction of their footsteps. He purses his lips, though, and keeps his back straight as a board. Not bothering to follow them with his eyes, even though his ears give away his desire to. “Of course something is amiss! There have been __deliveries!”__

 

“Ah!” Uthvir exclaims. They stop in front of him, and let their smirk widen to a grin. “So you got my gifts!”

 

“You __audacious__  rogue!” Thenvunin replies. “You sent couriers to my house! Mine!”

 

“They were just little kappa, nothing dangerous,” they say, wondering at his ire.

 

“No one goes to my house but __me!__  And… guests,” the Fox insists. Which finally lets Uthvir pinpoint the source of his ire. His home was distinctly humble - part of the inspiration for their gifts in the first place, actually. They had not considered that Thenvunin would be averse to having others visit it, though. Not since he brought __them__  there.

 

Hmm.

 

Perhaps he trusts them a bit more than he let on. Or perhaps it really was a matter of great necessity. Uthvir doesn’t suppose, in a state like that, that they would want to be anywhere except inside their own home either.

 

After a moment, they incline their head.

 

“Of course, Thenvunin. My apologies; I should have thought more keenly on your privacy.”

 

The Fox comes up a little short at their response. He narrows his eyes, and thins his lips. His tail twitches in agitation.

 

“Yes. Well. You should have,” he finally agrees.

 

Uthvir claps their hands together.

 

“Next time, I shall simply have to have you over to my own abode,” they decide, as they settle their wings. “You may take your gifts home with you, then. No more couriers. I trust you liked my offerings? I did take some care to select them for you.”

 

They lean in closer.

 

Thenvunin’s cheeks colour, but his ears flatten. It actually gives them another moment’s pause, as some fearfulness seems to strike him. There and gone again in an instant.

 

“I suppose you expect me to be grateful,” he grits out.

 

“Grateful?” Uthvir asks, as they pull back. They tilt their head. “No. That is the wrong word. Gratitude implies a certain degree of need. You hardly __need__  my gifts. I would hope you might like them, though. That is generally the intent of a gift.”

 

Thenvunin’s rigid posture eases only slightly.

 

“And how do you imagine I would express my appreciation?” he asks them. “I suppose you have all __sorts__  of ideas on that. You and your - your __wiles.__  What exactly did you do to me, to make it all… to… with…”

 

Uthvir blinks, while the Fox stumbles over his words for a moment, and his cheeks darken further. His tail twirls, just a little, before he seems to consciously settle it down behind him. His ears stay flat, and for some reason, it makes Uthvir feel badly. That is negative body language, isn’t it? Sorrow, or fear, or somesuch. They let him fumble over his words a few moments, until they actually realize what he is trying to say.

 

“With the - and it couldn’t possibly just be - it felt __good__  and I…” he trails off, giving them a caught look.

 

Uthvir lifts an eyebrow.

 

“It felt good, did it?” they ask, letting their tone drop a little.

 

Thenvunin looks as though he might slap them.

 

Just for a moment.

 

Then he lets out a frustrated huff.

 

“You know __full well__  that it did! Because you did something!” he insists.

 

Uthvir raises their hands defensively.

 

“Thenvunin,” they say. “I know nothing of such magic. It is not in my nature.”

 

Thenvunin’s tail outright __lashes__  at that.

 

“Liar,” he accuses. “You did spells! I saw you! With the light in my fur and the way the water tasted from your lips, and, and-”

 

“Spells, yes,” Uthvir concedes. “Light and some sparks, like the electric storms off a mountain’s peak. Clarity and cleansing, like to heal pollution from the air or streams. Tengu are guardians of nature, these sorts of things create a pleasant atmosphere, but there is no __beguilement__ in them.”

 

The Fox does not look convinced.

 

“There are other ways to learn magic. Sigils and - and witchcraft! Potions! Curses! You have absolutely beguiled me, why else would I…”

 

He trails off.

 

Uthvir smirks, and leans a bit closer again.

 

“Why else indeed,” they counter, with an internal thrill of their own. The Fox is certainly diverting. And, no doubt, the best lay of their life so far. When he is in rut, anyway. Outside of it he tends to be more... challenging.

 

It keeps things interesting, they suppose.

 

A few steps, and a twist around. Thenvunin moves away from them, and ends up backing himself against their tree. They use their wings to corner him there. The tree is old and sturdy. Its trunk is more than wide enough to accommodate Thenvunin, as well as both of Uthvir’s hands, as they frame him with them. The bark beneath their palms is smooth, and hums with natural energies quite attuned to their own. It is, of course, more calming than sexual. But the bob of Thenvunin’s throat, and the slight tremble of his mouth, make up the difference.

 

“For what it is worth, I find myself quite charmed by you, too,” they tell him. Before they lean up, and claim his lips.

 

His tail brushes against them. Then moves swiftly away, as he keeps his hands firmly at his sides. Uthvir sighs into the kiss, but pull back after a moment.

 

“Not going to ask me for another round?” they wonder.

 

Thenvunin’s face turns vividly red, but his ears plaster themselves flat against his skull again.

 

“Do not __ever__  reference what goes on in… __that time__  when I am not in it,” he insists, in a low, furious voice. His eyes refuse to meet theirs. His shoulders slump, and something worryingly like defeat seems to steal over him.

 

Uthvir moves a hand to brush his cheek. They think the better of it before they can complete the motion, though, and instead they take a step back.

 

“Alright,” they agree. “I will not mention it.”

 

Thenvunin swallows. His eyes are still fixed on some random patch of undergrowth, rather than on them.

 

“And do not send any more visitors to my house,” he insists, again.

 

“I have already agreed not to,” Uthvir reminds him.

 

He nods to himself.

 

“Then we are done here,” he decides. “You may go back to… ogling random travelers, or whatever it is you were doing.”

 

Uthvir clucks their tongue.

 

“Certainly not,” they decide, and snap their fingers. Thenvunin startles as a gateway begins to open in the tree behind him. He moves aside, and watches - ears up again - as the trunk of Uthvir’s favourite tree obligingly warps and twists, and gives way to an entrance. Not quite as dramatic as a foxfire portal, but still rather impressive, they think. The view beyond shows a pathway, leading up towards an elegant - if rather fortress-like - home. Walled in, but behind the walls are glimpses of blossoming tree tops, and sloping roofs. A tanuki gardener tends to the plants along the front pathway.

 

“You invited me to your home, and were a most diverting host,” they say. “Come and stay a while with me. It will give me a chance to ply you with gifts. Tengu are quite generous, you know.”

 

Thenvunin glances at them, and then looks swiftly towards the portal again.

 

“I have not heard that,” he says. “Tengu always seem quite stingy to me.”

 

Uthvir settles a hand over their chest in mock horror.

 

“Well then, it is my clear duty to set the record straight,” they insist. Reaching over, they wind their arm through one of his. When he finally looks at them again, they offer him a wink.

 

“Come now, Thenvunin. What is the worst that could happen?” they ask.

 

He looks as though he could think of a fair few ‘worsts’ to suggest.

 

But after a moment, he obliges their tugging, and walks through the portal with them.

 

 

~

 

 

Uthvir is slightly more prepared for Thenvunin’s second rut, when it starts up.

 

It still takes them a while to piece together that it is starting. It’s only when they find Thenvunin’s tail winding its way around their waist - a quip about __familiarity__  dancing on their tongue - that they catch a distinct note to his scent, and the mental light goes off. Thenvunin retracts his tail swiftly, of course, and accuses Uthvir of… doing __something.__

 

They are not entirely sure Thenvunin himself is clear on what they have supposedly done.

 

But on the off-chance that the Fox intends to invite them over for another riveting marathon sex week, Uthvir begins to plan for it. Adjusting their schedule accordingly, and accumulating some supplies. Thenvunin’s little house does not have a bath. Just a basin to wash in. They think about inviting him to stay over at their own household instead, but one look at his increasingly antsy countenance, and they nix the idea.

 

In such a state, they themselves would hardly trade security for a bath.

 

They enchant an extra basin instead, and begin gathering up some good preserves and easy-to-prepare foods, and some potions that might come in handy. Oils and lotions and soft silken ropes, too. They pack soothing balms and optimistically bring along their wing-cleaning kit, just in case this time they should actually get an opportunity to groom a bit between… instances. And after a few discreet inquiries, they acquire a delicate bristle brush, that is ostensibly quite good for fox fur.

 

The salesman may have conned them on that front, but Uthvir supposes it is worth a thought, anyway. And it did not cost much.

 

When Thenvunin invites them quite bluntly to his house, they are ready.

 

“Just let me bring a few things,” they say.

 

“We should go __now,”__  Thenvunin insists, rubbing up against them like… well. Like a rutting Fox. Uthvir lets him follow them into their room, and finds themselves fighting the urge to give in to his invitations and wandering hands as they nevertheless sweep up their travel bag, and place it onto the somewhat larger chest full of most of their supplies.

 

“What are you bringing all that for?” Thenvunin wonders, nearly petulant about it. “You will __not__  be needing any clothes…”

 

“Open a portal,” Uthvir requests, instead. They have scarcely gotten the word out before Thenvunin grumbles a ‘finally’ and snaps his fingers. A circle of foxfire erupts into the middle of the room, and shows the way to his quaint little house. Uthvir floats the chest and bag through ahead of them, and then lets themselves be dragged in as well. Thenvunin gets a bit unsteady on his feet at that point, though.

 

They take the opening to lift him up. Still levitating their luggage, too, as they carry both in through the screen door to the Fox’s home.

 

Thenvunin makes a very interesting sound when they scoop him up. His ears go flat, but his tail twines around them. Now that they’re trying to pay more attention to his body language - in particular his ears and tail - they sometimes gain better inroads to what is going on with him. But sometimes he remains as confusing as ever.

 

They are quietly pleased with the improvements to Thenvunin’s home, though. It is still small and… __humble,__  which they do not think quite suits his demeanour. But there is something to be said for the quiet of it, and with some of their gifts now decorating the walls and softening the contents of his bedchamber, it seems more lively. Intimate, rather than tiny. The pear tree in his garden has begun to bloom, too.

 

They settle their things into the main room, and carry on with Thenvunin into the bedroom. Their lips quirk in satisfaction when they see the veritable nest he has made of all the blankets and cushions and pillows they have given him. Much cozier than the single bed mat of before.

 

“I had nowhere else to put it all,” Thenvunin says, as if he can read their thoughts.

 

But despite his protestations, it all looks very well slept-in.

 

Uthvir turns their head and grazes his lips with a kiss.

 

“Silly Fox. This is exactly where you were supposed to put it all,” they say.

 

It is a testament to how far-gone he must be that Thenvunin only sighs, rather than offering up further protests. He moves a hand to their head and threads his fingers into their hair, his tail still wrapped firmly around them, as he nuzzles at the side of their face.

 

“Then put me with it, and come and touch me,” he beseeches. “My body is aching.”

 

His skin certainly feels heated enough. Uthvir swallows back some of their own reaction to his words, but not all of it. They give him a long look first, though. Taking in the colour in his cheeks, and the building fog in his gaze, and the ears still flat against his skull.

 

That keeps worrying them. Is he afraid?

 

“I will look after you,” they promise.

 

Thenvunin’s ears stay flat, but his chest rumbles a little with something suspiciously like a purr.

 

“Then __take me,”__  he insists.

 

Ah.

 

Well.

 

Since he __insists…__

__

They lower him to his nest of blankets, and kiss him until they can feel the heat of it right down to the tips of their wings.

 

 

~

 

 

It feels __so good.__

 

Thenvunin does not think he can ever remember feeling this good so far into one of his ruts before. He did not even know it __could__  be… pleasant. Beyond the obvious bursts of release and relief, of course. He has no idea what to do with this scenario. His thoughts are not clear on how much time has passed, but he knows it has been a few days, at least. His cock is hard again but it seems… less urgent, somehow, as Uthvir brushes a cool, damp cloth over his skin.

 

The silken ropes on his arms and legs are holding him, but they are far more comfortable than he might have guessed. The bedding around him is still soft, and smells like himself and like Uthvir, like sex, but not cloyingly so. He has his tail draped against Uthvir as they wash off the remnants of their last few rounds. The strokes of the cloth against his skin are soothing, just like their hands when they had covered him with lotions and oils. Their wings have filled up the room; and they have moved his screen, too, so that he can see them when they go to fill up the water flask, or bring a tray of food.

 

Thenvunin’s mind is still a fog of lust, but the usual, sinking anxiety of it all is quiet. Somehow.

 

He tries to move into Uthvir’s touch.

 

“Untie me?” he asks.

 

He needs to… just… to just __touch them back…__

 

Uthvir regards him for a moment. He makes what submissive gestures he can, like this. After a moment, they relent, and with a sigh they move to take the ropes off of him. His arms are freed first. Thenvunin shivers as the soft, silken bonds slide loose, but he barely has time to focus on that before he reaches for Uthvir.

 

“I need to get your legs,” they tell him, evading his grasp just long enough to do that. Thenvunin knows he should just let them, but he cannot help it. He pulls them to him, and sighs as he buries his nose into their hair. Their feathers feel so __soft.__  Spiky in a few places, too, but like their hair, they are nowhere near as spiky as they look. The damp rag smells faintly of fresh pine, which he doesn’t mind, per se, but he doesn’t want it either. He wants their scent and his and nothing else.

 

Pulling them to him helps solve the problem. Their wings smell most strongly of them, the glands at the base of them secreting the oils that help keep their feathers clean, and also the scent that Thenvunin wants. He cards his touch through them, carefully straightening them out - __wings are delicate__  - even as he grinds his hips against them. A pleading whine escapes his lips, until Uthvir closes a hand over his cock, and playfully nips at the side of his ear.

 

His breath catches at the gesture. He shivers nearly as much from the little lovebite as from the feel of their hand. __Oh, yes,__  something in him thinks. __Good, good, bite me, claim me, please, please, please…__

 

He wants it to always be like this. It should always by like this. Why weren’t the other times like this? The irrational, animalistic part of him ignores all the practical thoughts that tell him why and how and try to remind him that Uthvir is a disreputable Tengu. His fingers stall over one of the odd marks on their wings. They pull that hand back, not ungently. Thenvunin can scarcely think about the reaction, though, because then they flip him fully onto his back, and move to straddle him.

 

Their own cock has not recovered yet, but that does not seem to deter them much, as they press the soft skin up against his flushed arousal, and stroke him. Thenvunin reaches to pull them back down, though, wanting them closer still. His hands find their shoulders, and his need settles some as their wings furl around them.

 

And then his world is caught up in the building fires of his pleasure. The slide of their touch, the press of their nails at his chest. The spark of magic, brief but distinct, that makes his fur tingle and his tail twitch, and draws their name from his lips like a breath of relief.

 

He comes a second afterwards. Not entirely satisfied - not in this state - but enough that he sighs and manages to pull them back down to him again. Forgoing the feel of their hand for the feel of their lips, as he incidentally unbalances them, and forces them to brace themselves on either side of his sleeping mat instead.

 

“Please,” he breathes against them.

 

“Almost,” they promise. “I just need a little while longer.”

 

Thenvunin presses flush to them. His lips find the side of their neck. It is a force of effort not to sink his teeth in there.

 

__Bite, mark, claim…_ _

 

No.

 

Uthvir is a Tengu. It would not mean the same thing to them. And besides which, that is not what they are to one another. This is a… an arrangement. A tryst. He does not know why his ravenous libido should somehow keep forgetting that.

 

He keeps just enough of himself to fend off his foolish instincts, and presses a kiss to them instead.

 

 

~

 

 

Uthvir can tell when things are starting to slow down again.

 

They know the signs to look for again. They find they can keep count of how many culminations it takes for Thenvunin to go into a relaxed state, or soften, and that tends to be a very good indicator. For the last day Thenvunin mostly goes down after every time he comes. Which is good, because Uthvir is still quite exhausted by that point.

 

They fall asleep a few times, only to wake to wandering hands and kisses, whispered pleas - but despite them anticipating it a little, Thenvunin does not take advantage of them while they are sleeping. Not to do anything more than drape himself all over them, anyway, and offer some aggressive snuggling.

 

But the real tip off that Thenvunin is snapping out of it is when he stops trying to cuddle.

 

Uthvir’s legs and arms feel like jelly, and even their wings are a bit tired, when Thenvunin finishes for the last time and then rolls right off of them. He has to press against the far wall to do it. Uthvir watches his expression drop, and his nose wrinkle.

 

The little room __is__  fairly rank with the scents of sex and sweat by now, of course, but up until even just a few minutes ago, Thenvunin had seemed to enjoy that quite a bit. And last time, Uthvir was themselves so desperate for a bath that they could hardly fault the reaction.

 

But this time they have managed to do a fair job of keeping them both clean, if they do say so themselves.

 

Not that they __mind__  being suddenly freed from all that needless touching, of course. It is just that it suddenly makes things rather drafty.

 

“If you’re giving me the cold shoulder, you must be coming to your senses,” they quip.

 

Thenvunin freezes. And then he turns, and fixes them with an affronted look.

 

“What did you say?” he demands.

 

Uthvir raises an eyebrow, and glances pointedly at the distance between them.

 

“Just that it must be wearing off, if you are not being all cuddly anymore,” they explain. Not unreasonably, they think, but Thenvunin’s ears move backwards, in a gesture they have begun to recognize as the ‘anger’ position.

 

“And I suppose you would like it best if I played the simpering, desperate fool all year round,” he says.

 

“What?” Uthvir replies, taken aback.

 

“A rut is a __rut__ , it changes my behaviour,” Thenvunin snaps.

 

They manage to sit up, wincing at little at some of their aches.

 

“Yes, I __noticed__ ,” they say. “That was what I was commenting on. It’s not as if __I__  am the one who kept insisting on as much contact as possible all week.”

 

“Oh but you certainly took your pleasure from it, did you not?!” Thenvunin fires back.

 

It is Uthvir’s turn to freeze up, then. Indecision striking them with nauseating fervency, even as defensiveness rises in its wake. Did they take advantage, somehow? They had not thought… and __he__  came to __them,__  he was well aware of what was going on beforehand… but… __during,__  did they do something wrong…?

 

“The lion’s share of pleasure spilled on these sheets was not mine,” they drawl, as they pick themselves up a bit more.

 

Thenvunin flinches as if struck. It deflates some of their defensiveness.

 

“Thenvunin, I-”

 

“No,” he snaps at them, and rolls over. His tail curls defensively around himself, as he pointedly disappears into one of the blankets. “The rut is over. There is no reason for you to be here anymore.”

 

Uthvir feels struck at that themselves.

 

__I am done with you. Get out._ _

 

Awkward silence drags down the atmosphere. It makes them painfully aware of just how tired they are. How spent. Despite their efforts, their skin still itches in places. They could probably do with a warm meal - actual food, not just occasional tidbits and water - and some rejuvenation. They should get back to their territory, too, to make certain nothing has happened to their range in their absence.

 

Thenvunin is fine now.

 

Clearly.

 

“Well. Far be it for me to overstay a welcome,” they say, as they manage to push themselves to their feet. They are not too tired for stubbornness, as they gather up their discarded clothing and armour, and dutifully pull it back on.

 

The Fox remains a lump in the blankets, glowering at his wall.

 

It takes long enough that there is plenty of time for him to roll over and offer some… retraction of sentiments.

 

He doesn’t.

 

Uthvir makes their way gingerly out of his front door, and tells themselves they should not be surprised.

 

 

 

~

 

 

Stalking has been far too long away from court.

 

It could not be helped, of course. First there was that business with the nobleman and his mistress, and then with charming two-tail from the mainland, who required all of his attention to simply keep occupied for long enough to… make use of. Her lack of genuine contacts and natural trust of her own kind made her too tempting a target to pass up, though. Much to his benefit, in the end. Despite his absence, Stalking returns to court with a new wing in his household, several new attendants trailing after him, and a fourth tail twining with his other three. His fur and hair are luxurious and soft, and he has gained another inch in height.

 

The court is all a-titter at his return. As it should be. Depleting that two-tail was time-consuming, but now he need only reap the rewards.

 

And look for another target, of course. Always the best part of any hunt.

 

He works his way through the various social circles that welcome him in the palace of the gods. Mirena has gone off to chase her artistry again; good, for it means she will not be around to caution anyone against him. Her son is at court, though, and is a source of much gossip. The one-tail apparently having run around with a Tengu, of all things.

 

And not just any Tengu, but one bound to the Dark God. Stalking is nearly impressed by the level of seduction that probably took; but it means he initially writes the man off as a poor target. Too skilled, in that case, and also being Mirena’s son, probably all too wary of him. The better marks are the newcomers. He pursues some other lines of gossip. A Cat has come to court, new but not really powerful enough to be worth it. More promising, the young cousin of one of his rival courtesans has been staying __away__  from court. Reputedly too good-natured and innocent for the rigors of politicking, but still hailing from a prominent bloodline. Stalking indulges in a few lovers and plots a few plots, makes some strides to gain invitations here and there.

 

Court gossips whispers that Mirena’s son has fallen out of favour with his Tengu. Stalking is not expecting luck to deliver a one-tail right into his lap; but he happens to be invited to the first party which Thenvunin visits, subsequent to the drama.

 

He is older than Stalking would expect, for a Fox with only one tail. But still, of course, quite pretty - tall, and broad, but clad is soft tones that try to downplay it. He keeps his chin up and his shoulders straight, makes a lot of excuses when he speaks, and isn’t much good at disguising the signals of his tail and ears.

 

 _ _Pathetic,__  Stalking thinks.

 

And the weakness is promising.

 

He makes his way over, being certain to advertise his status as he fans his tails outwards. Thenvunin departs from his current conversation, and nearly stumbles over himself as he takes note of Stalking.

 

“Oh!” he exclaims, before flattening his ears, and ducking into a bow. “My Lord Four-Tail, forgive me! I did not realize you were there.”

 

“Hmm. Shall I be offended at your lack of courtesy, or pleased that my footfalls are still so quiet, after all this time?” he wonders, taking more thorough stock of his potential target. Green eyes. Thin lips - shame. A little too much meat on him, perhaps, but despite his lack of tails, there is __definitely__  a certain amount of power to him. Well. He is a purebred; and Stalking has yet to add any of Mirena’s bloodline to his collection.

 

But how wary is the man…?

 

Thenvunin bows again.

 

“I meant no offense at all. My thoughts were distracted,” he says.

 

Stalking ventures a bit closer, and reaches out to brush a finger across Thenvunin’s jaw. It draws a blush. Some flustering. But he does not pull back, nor raise his hackles; nor attempt to protest the familiarity.

 

Interesting.

 

“Then I shall forgive you, pretty thing that you are,” he decides. “Do you know me?”

 

“No my lord, I fear we have not met,” Thenvunin tells him.

 

“Hmm, and yet I know you,” Stalking counters. “You are Mirena’s son, Thenvunin? Yes? And I am Lord Stalking, to you.”

 

No light of recognition shines in the younger Fox’s eyes.

 

…Perhaps he __has__  been gone too long from court, at that. How old was this one when he left? Grown, yes, but only just. It seems he has had some time to come into his own. Albeit poorly.

 

“Ah, how remiss of me,” Thenvunin says, still making submissive gestures, and bowing his head again. “Forgive me, Lord Stalking, for not knowing you.”

 

“It seems I must be quite benevolent this evening, to grant forgiveness so often,” he counters. Thenvunin tenses, as if awaiting some form of reprisal. But he does not seem prepared to argue or counteract it at all.

 

__Yes. This one will do._ _

 

“Well, I shall do you one better,” he decides, and brushes a tail ‘accidentally’ against the side of Thenvunin’s leg. “I shall let you keep me company this evening. We might get to know one another quite well, and thereby avoid any further… mishaps.”

 

The pathetic one-tail tries to demure.

 

“I could not presume to take up such time,” he says.

 

“It is not a presumption. Are we not both Foxes here?” Stalking counters.

 

He hesitates, still. Just a moment. Enough to be concerning. But in the end it just adds a little spice to the challenge - hardly any, really - before he capitulates, and falls into step with Stalking. Keeping his ears flat and his tail low, and following him as Stalking leads him to gather some refreshments, and then to join some of the more influential gossips in the palace gardens.

 

With a Fox like this, giving a taste of influence is usually wise. Many older Foxes take on apprentices in earnest. It is a social convention which Stalking has used to his great advantage. Young, eager Foxes often seek out older and more experienced ones. And he can see the tentative hopefulness come into Thenvunin’s countenance, as the evening draws on, and the wheels of his little mind turn. Every kind word or simple bit of flattery Stalking offers him seems to impress the hope more and more.

 

 _ _Yes,__  he thinks. __There you are. Such a nice older Fox. A potential mentor, in these stormy, isolated times.__

 

He weaves a little magic around it. Subtle enough to deny as a random wisp, were it to be caught. But Thenvunin scarcely seems to notice as he starts to stand more easily in Stalking’s company, and leans a bit into his touch, whenever he ventures a hand towards his shoulder, or pats at one of his cheeks. Stalking keeps it subtle, though. Too much is too obvious, and Foxes know the feel of such magic innately. Even the most miserably unsuccessful and dull-minded among them do.

 

But he doesn’t need much, truly. By the end of the evening Thenvunin looks near to adoring, and Stalking does not even bother to request it as he leads them both back to his chambers.

 

It is almost comical, though, once they get there. The big idiot flusters and tries to play __delicate,__  talks himself in circles and even tries to leave, twice, without breaking the unspoken contracts of etiquette that Stalking deftly weaves into a noose, and lets his prey hang himself with. By the time he takes him to bed, Thenvunin is begging more apologies for his ‘unconscionable behaviour’, and Stalking is magnanimously permitting him to make amends.

 

He goes gently, though. That is the key. He has rarely had a Fox so clumsy in bed before, but rather than snapping and biting and forcing, he sighs and pets and takes his time. At least Thenvunin’s hair is soft. Quite pleasant for sinking his fingers into, as he weaves a few more subtle threads of magic, and tries not kick the man aside for his joke of a bedroom manner.

 

At least the one-tail knows his place. The deference is quite pleasing, even if his form is somewhat ludicrous a vessel for it.

 

When morning comes, the one-tail sneaks back out of his rooms. Stalking permits it, because it is convenient. He takes a moment to rest, and then wrinkles his nose at the lingering scents of the night before. Summoning a servant up to clean, he bathes, and reconsiders.

 

He probably could not make this one disappear like the two-tail. He is too well-known. People would go looking. But depleting him would be easy enough; and hardly suspect. The man clearly has poor enough prospects anyway. He has lost the one thing of note he seemed to accomplish - the Tengu - and after so long without accumulating much power, it would not beggar belief that his own might wane. Fading until only a simple fox remains, barely more magical than their animal cousins.

 

It almost makes Stalking nostalgic for the first time he pulled off such a feat.

 

He makes up his mind, and arranges to have an invitation sent to Thenvunin. Requesting his presence in Stalking’s entourage at the next event he has scheduled. But he does not abandon the other paths of interest, either. Merely setting them aside; it is too soon to fully commit. Good prey, like a good relationship, takes some testing of the waters.

 

 

~

 

 

Thenvunin cannot believe his luck.

 

A lordly Fox has come to court. A four-tail, even! And he is handsome and charming and kind, powerful and well-spoken, and for some unknowable reason, he seems to have taken an interest In Thenvunin.

 

It is remarkable. The exact kind of opportunity that Thenvunin has hoped for! Like something straight out of a dream. It nearly makes him forget about all of the… the untoward business with… with __that Tengu.__

 

He should have known that Uthvir was only feigning interest in him outside of his ruts, to get access to him during them. The disappointment in their tone lingers in his mind, burdened with unspoken accusations. __Cold,__  they had called him. After a week of subjecting himself to their every carnal want and whim! And then they had just __left,__  with no further discussion. Probably happy to be short of a Thenvunin who was no longer hanging on their every breath and sigh, no longer dizzied by his own fantastical libido.

 

There are times when Thenvunin hates being a Fox.

 

But he __is__  one, and to that end, the whole incident has just served to remind him of how inescapable it all is. His mother had warned him when he was younger, of the dangers and unlikelihood of finding other spirits or mortals who would truly understand and appreciate them.

 

Some things, only other Foxes can know.

 

He keeps those thoughts in his mind as he gets ready for the evening’s festivities. Lord Stalking has invited Thenvunin to accompany him for a poetry reading. One of the court’s up-and-coming playwrights has prepared it as a sort of exclusive pre-event to the play she has been writing for the past decade. It is the sort of small, privileged event which Thenvunin himself would never be invited to; the type likely to present opportunities for rubbing elbows with powerful spirits and godly servants. __Courtly__  folk of high esteem; not just bound warriors and hangers-on.

 

Needless to say, the prospect of dressing well for the evening has him somewhat on edge.

 

He has formal attire, of course, but… the __nicest__  things he owns are… well…

 

He glances towards the chest where he packed away several of Uthvir’s gifts, and purses his lips.

 

Gifts are gifts, of course. And it is not as if Uthvir themselves is liable to attend such an event. They would probably never even know he wore something they had given him. Most people at court would even take it favourably, to see Thenvunin showing off the spoils of a ‘seduction’. Nevermind the particulars; that is what Foxes are __supposed__  to do.

 

He debates only a little longer, before giving in. He will have to start dressing in a hurry, either way, if he wants to be ready in time. Opening the chest, he pulls out the box with the fine hair pin they gave him, and the purple silk robe, with white cranes on it. The fabric feels smooth as rain on polished stones. Thenvunin finds the belt to go with it, too, and from there, makes the rest of the outfit from his older closet. A person would not ordinarily be able to dress themselves, but in lieu of servants, he makes do with a few carefully placed spells.

 

When he is done, he regards his reflection.

 

He looks… square. And there is something off with his make-up, he thinks, but he cannot decide what. He checks the time, and then does it over again. But finds himself barely satisfied with the changes. Thinking carefully, he selects a fan - another gift from Uthvir - to go with it, and help hide any potential embarrassments. There is no disguise for the fullness of his frame, but then, there never really has been. He leaves most of his hair loose to help compensate, and politely wraps his tail around his own waist, before he finally sets out to meet Lord Stalking.

 

The palace halls are fairly quiet. It is not an evening of broad revelry. Thenvunin walks with as much haste as he can manage in his outfit, eager to avoid being late, and having to make more apologies.

 

Not that he would mind, of course! But… well… better to avoid the need for such things, anyway.

 

His mind turns towards Lord Stalking’s invitation to his bedchamber, and dutifully skips over the particulars. He felt compelled to bathe himself a lot more thoroughly the next morning, although, Foxes tend to have heightened scents as compared to… others. Such things are to be expected, particularly since there are no assumptions and certainly no agreements between himself and the four-tail.

 

Only hopes.

 

Thenvunin is distracted enough that he fails to note the shadow of winds on a nearby wall, and rounds a corner, and freezes.

 

Uthvir is standing in the palace hall, near to Lord Stalking’s guest chambers. Walking towards some other destination themselves. But their feet halt as they fold their wings behind themselves, and take in the sight of him.

 

They are also dressed quite nicely, he notes. In their formal armour, the sort that is more for ceremony than sport, with their hair done up and their dark nails painted gold. There is a faint shimmer on their lips, too, a ludicrous balm that draws his gaze there, and cannot help but conjure up memories of kisses and whispers. The feel of those lips against his skin.

 

Thenvunin’s heart speeds up, and he curses his luck.

 

“...Thenvunin,” they greet.

 

He swallows. His lips thin, and it does not escape his notice that they are giving him another once-over. The tiny shiver that rises up in him is easy to quell, and is mostly reflex besides. He unfurls his fan, unthinking, but wishing to hide.

 

“Uthvir,” he returns, more tersely.

 

“You look very nice,” they tell him. “Are you going to the-”

 

“Why Thenvunin,” Lord Stalking’s voice calls. “There you are!”

 

He nearly roots himself to the spot. Oh __no.__  His gaze darts between Uthvir, and the approaching Fox Lord. Stalking is wearing attire that puts Thenvunin’s own rightly to shame, the sort of meticulous, handmade, elaborate garments that would take actual decades to make. His hair is tied up into elegant knots. The slashes of silver paint on his eyelids match perfectly with the fur of his tails.

 

He remembers himself just in time to flatten his ears, and duck into a deep bow.

 

“My lord,” he greets.

 

“I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost,” Lord Stalking says, with flattering concern. He draws close, and then turns his gaze towards Uthvir.

 

His lips part, slightly. His eyes widen. Thenvunin stalls on his way up out of his bow, gripped by a sudden, unpleasant feeling of vulnerability.

 

Uthvir returns Stalking’s assessment much more coolly.

 

“My, my,” says Lord Stalking, faintly. Then he inclines his head. The gesture not quite deferential, but still more respectful than Uthvir generally seems to get. Even with their power and relative prestige. “You must be the Vassal of the Dark God. I confess, I had not pictured you so beautiful. In my experience, Tengu tend more towards homeliness.”

 

Uthvir raises an eyebrow, as Thenvunin nearly chokes over Lord Stalking’s flattery.

 

 _ _Flirtation?__  he wonders.

 

The idea does not suit him in the least. But then, of course it does not. A Fox of Lord Stalking’s station would only be lowering himself to consort with the likes of Uthvir.

 

“You must have quite limited experience, then,” Uthvir rudely replies - not even bothering to return the flattery. Thenvunin does not know whether to be relieved or appalled, but Lord Stalking only smiles at the slight.

 

“Perhaps so,” he concedes. “Much as I would love to discuss the matter more, Thenvunin and I are about to head to a poetry recital. I would invite you along, but the guest list is necessarily limited, by will of our hostess.”

 

Uthvir shakes their head.

 

“That is alright. I am heading to a performance in the gardens myself,” they say. Then they turn their gaze towards Thenvunin, and rest a hand on their hip. The spot where the hilt of their blade would be, if they were wearing one.

 

“Perhaps Thenvunin would care to accompany me instead?” they suggest. “If your hostess is worried about over-crowding, I certainly would not object to escorting you to a different venue, Thenvunin. It would be a shame to waste such a lovely outfit on a stuffy indoor recital.”

 

Before Thenvunin can begin to formulate a response, Lord Stalking laughs.

 

“Are you trying to steal my date out from under me, Tengu?” he asks. His countenance seems amused, but there is a gleam in his gaze that makes Thenvunin nervous. A spark of ire. “That is rather bold of you.”

 

Uthvir shrugs.

 

“I have a rural upbringing. My manners are far from exemplary,” they say.

 

 _ _“Clearly,”__  Thenvunin scoffs. His stomach lurches somewhat, however, when Lord Stalking closes a hand around his arm, and draws him pointedly to his side. The atmosphere in the hall is tense, and not in a way he can readily decipher. If he did not know any better, he would think he was being fought over. But his rut is another year away yet, so Uthvir cannot want him. And Lord Stalking is being benevolent in his interests; so why would he fight over him?

 

 _ _Wishful__   _ _thinking__  he decides, with a twist of humiliation. He is busy swallowing it down when he realizes that Uthvir has unfurled their wings, and is looking very sternly at Lord Stalking.

 

“Thenvunin?” they ask.

 

“What?” he wonders, less elegantly than he might have preferred.

 

The four-tail’s grip on his arm tightens. But when he looks over, Lord Stalking is smiling again.

 

“How quaint,” he says. “The Tengu thinks you might __actually__  choose to go with them.”

 

“Well…” Thenvunin replies, before stuttering a little. It earns him a sharp look. He ducks his head. “Well of course not!” he exclaims.

 

It would be the __height__  of foolishness to do such a thing. Particularly when Uthvir is probably just attempting to sabotage him. Ruin his prospects, and keep him downtrodden, and thereby always available to them for their needs. Of course, that must be it. Even if it does sound rather more deplorable of them than Thenvunin might suspect.

 

Perhaps they are simply not thinking things through. Being reckless, and petty.

 

“There you have it,” Lord Stalking says. He begins to turn, and pulls Thenvunin along with him. “Come along, my dear. Hopefully we can speak to your friend again when they have a cooler head on their shoulders.”

 

Thenvunin can feel Uthvir’s gaze on his back as they set off down the hall. And all the way until they reach the end of it. Lord Stalking’s grip remains firm, until they are out of sight and earshot, and can no longer see the shadows of wings on the walls.

 

“However did you seduce __that__  one?” he asks, once they are alone.

 

“I did not,” Thenvunin replies, automatically. Then he backtracks somewhat. “That is, Uthvir simply had an interest in my… cycle. And it was convenient, for a time.”

 

Lord Stalking makes a sympathetic sound, and pats his arm.

 

“Of course. I might have guessed that such a dalliance would be more of their design than yours,” he says. “Still. That is useful information. If they are susceptible to such whims, perhaps I might enact some vengeance on your behalf. However enthralling you are, after all, __my__  charms could leave a lasting mark on that presumptuous spirit. One they would likely regret.”

 

Thenvunin’s nerves jangle in alarm.

 

“My lord?!” he asks, aghast.

 

Stalking glances at him, and his expression softens some.

 

“Only if you wish revenge, of course,” he says. “I had assumed you might, given the situation you described.”

 

He shakes his head before he can even think of a tactful response. But then he catches himself. Of course; it has been too long since he spent much time around other Foxes. Such an offer would be meant kindly, not… not as a…

 

“I believe that would be overkill,” he says, more tactfully. “Besides, Uthvir is bound to a powerful god. It would not be worth it to risk drawing such ire to yourself.”

 

Lord Stalking smiles in comprehension. Then he pauses in his steps, and reaches over to pat Thenvunin’s cheek.

 

“How good of you to worry for me,” he says. “Clearly, I have chosen my own company wisely. I shall have to give you a token, in repayment for such consideration.”

 

His face heats.

 

“Oh, certainly not!” he protests.

 

Stalking taps his lips. The heat in his face intensifies at the touch.

 

“Shh, none of that,” he insists. “I have accumulated more than a few trinkets on my travels. I am certain I can find the right one to suit you. Nothing excessive; you need not worry. Just something to… mark my favour.”

 

He withdraws his touch, and with a wink, pulls Thenvunin into walking beside him again.

 

His mind races at the implications.

 

__Favour._ _

 

Well that… that is very fortunate indeed.

 

 

~

 

 

Lord Stalking gives Thenvunin his favour a mere week after the poetry recital.

 

It is a beautiful silver necklace. Small, not garish, but astonishingly well-crafted. The chain is heavier than it looks. The feature piece of the pendant is a molded silver flame, flecked with tiny jewels that look amber when Thenvunin first opens the box containing it. But when he tries it on, the jewels turn a pale green; the same colour as his eyes.

 

“The more you wear it, the more it will attune itself to you,” Lord Stalking tells him. “Such trinkets can sometimes help one focus their powers. Although this one is older, so, it may not be as effective as some others.”

 

“It is __beautiful,”__  Thenvunin insists, and promises to wear it often. He finds that after an hour or so, the chain becomes a little uncomfortable. Digging into his neck more than he would like. But that is a small complaint, and not one he would dare voice to Lord Stalking, lest he seem ungrateful.

 

More and more, he is becoming intent upon pleasing the older Fox.

 

He must be doing something right, because Lord Stalking invites him to more events. A dinner party here, a theatre performance there. Thenvunin’s once-sparse schedule suddenly seems full to bursting with activities, although nearly all of them involve his new Fox mentor. Which is only to be expected, of course. Thenvunin’s wardrobe is taxed to capacity as he tries to find suitable things to wear to each event, though, without reusing the same outfits too often. He extends a few of his own connections to beg and borrow off of spirits who owe him favours, and are of a similar build.

 

But even that has its limits. He is fretting over what to wear to a birthday celebration which Lord Stalking has requested his company for, when he comes to his house to find a gift-wrapped parcel resting on his front step.

 

He pauses, and looks about nervously for any sign of intruders or messengers. But whoever delivered the item seems to have simply come and gone, and without disturbing any of his alarms, or trying to get __into__  his house. Still, he approaches the package with some trepidation. Checking it for curses or any signs of spellwork, before finally unwrapping it in the front garden.

 

The slippery fabric nearly falls from his grasp in surprise, as he finds a beautiful outfit carefully wrapped inside.

 

His breath caches, and he picks up the parcel to examine with more care.

 

The robe is a pale yellow, with accents of green in the form of the leafy branches printed across the soft material. Splashes of red grace the pattern here and there, in the form of ripened fruit. Small birds nest between the curves of the branches, and soar through the open spaces of the pattern. Thenvunin finds nothing but beauty in the parcel. Not even a tag or card, or letter. Just the wrappings, and the elegant garment, which is perfectly his size.

 

Realization dawns with giddy wonderment.

 

Lord Stalking must have noticed his plight, and sent him a gift.

 

Of course, such an extravagant gift would be… rather forward, for a respectable and deferential relationship such as theirs. The lord probably decided to make his offering anonymous so as to avoid giving the wrong impression.

 

Thenvunin gets ready for the festivities with a lighter heart, and far fewer worries. He makes certain to wear the necklace which Lord Stalking gave him, too, and is pleased when the pale green stones match the leaves on his outfit, and the green of his eyes. The overall effect is more striking than he thought it would be. It nearly distracts him from the unruly wisps of hair that do not want to cooperate, and the line of his shoulders that still seems too bulky for such delicate patterning.

When he meets up with Lord Stalking, he cannot help but offer his thanks, though. The older Fox seems surprised for a moment. Perhaps at Thenvunin’s skills in deduction. But then he offers a modest smile, and pats Thenvunin’s cheek.

 

“I am pleased you like it,” he says. “Although I fear I will have to ask for it back after the event is done.”

 

“Oh,” Thenvunin says, faltering slightly. “It is only a loan, then?”

 

“Well, I did not want to spoil things by saying so. But yes,” Lord Stalking confirms.

 

It is still very fine and pleasant to have, though, so Thenvunin tries not to let his disappointment show. Lest it seem like ingratitude. He does wonder at the lack of a card or note, in that case, to clarify things. But Lord Stalking just assures him that there was one, and it must have gotten misplaced by the messenger.

 

And then Thenvunin does wonder how Lord Stalking knew where to find his home. But the older Fox just winks at him.

 

“I have my ways,” he says, before drawing him a little closer. The scent of him makes Thenvunin a bit dizzy, and embarrassingly weak in the knees. “Speaking of which, though, I think it is high time I saw where you are living.”

 

The prospect draws him up short in a rush of insecurities.

 

“Oh,” he says. “Well that… I do not think that, I mean… it is a very humble place, my lord, I suspect it would be unworthy of you.”

 

“Undoubtedly,” Lord Stalking agrees. Thenvunin’s heart sinks into his stomach at the certainty in his tone. But the man offers him a smile. “Nevertheless, I would like to see it. How else will I know what state you are living in, and how great your need for me is.”

 

“That is most kind, but I-”

 

“Then it is settled,” Lord Stalking decides, with a note of inarguable finality. “After the celebration is done, you will take me to see it. It is most convenient. I can reclaim the loan from you then, too.”

 

Thenvunin’s light mood falls completely, despite himself. The necklace feels heavy at his throat.

 

“Of course,” he nevertheless agrees.

 

The rest of the party lacks the excitement and glamour he had looked forward to, somehow. Thenvunin tries not to let his poor mood show. He thinks he mostly succeeds, as Lord Stalking seems quite pleased, and makes no effort to rebuke him. Not even gently. Each passing minute manages to weigh more, though, and Thenvunin knows he is anxious over taking his mentor to his humble home in the Spirit World.

 

His anxieties come to roost when the party is finally done, and Lord Stalking motions expectantly at him.

 

“It really is… it is quite small,” he dithers.

 

It earns him a look of impatience.

 

“If your were as prestigious as myself, Thenvunin, you would hardly need my help,” he says. “Now get to it. You are starting to seem __ungrateful.”__

 

With a hasty bow and a murmured apology, Thenvunin opens the portal at last.

 

Lord Stalking, of course, does not look impressed with his small home and his lone pear tree. He raises an eyebrow, and takes it all in. And though he does give Thenvunin a magnanimous smile, and take his arm, he also wrinkles his nose and does not quite hide his distaste for the house. Particularly once they get inside.

 

“Ugh,” he says, at last. Thenvunin wishes he could sink through the floor. “This place __reeks__  of Tengu.”

 

The accusation is mortification itself. His face burns as Lord Stalking lets go of his arm, and turns a critical eye towards his walls.

 

“I…” he begins. “There were… gifts…”

 

 _ _“Clearly,”__  the elder Fox drawls. His tails swish in excitement. Or, no, given the circumstances, it must surely be agitation. His nose wrinkles as he sniffs, and Thenvunin cannot stop him from opening the screen to his bedroom. He had not even noticed that the place still smells like Uthvir. Not overtly, he had thought. But perhaps he had just… gotten used to it, or was too busy comparing it to the scent of the two of them during rut.

 

If anything, he had only noted that the scent was __gone.__  Or, as it must be, simply less fresh…

 

He swallows as Lord Stalking’s expression grows grim.

 

At length, his mentor finishes his assessment, and turns back to him.

 

“It is as I feared,” he announces.

 

Thenvunin bows his head, and braces himself for the judgement. He is not even certain what rebuke he is anticipating, but he feels as if he must deserve one.

 

“The Tengu has laced your entire home with enough items to sap your strength,” Lord Stalking declares.

 

Thenvunin’s head shoots back up.

 

“What?!” he asks.

 

Lord Stalking nods, gravely.

 

“Oh, yes. It is an old trick of disreputable spirits,” he says. “To give gifts and items that seem like finery, but are truly magical objects in disguise. They will sap your strength, bit by bit. So gradually that you might not even notice it. By the time you do, the Tengu will have its hooks into you. It will be able to draw upon your magic, and use you up until you are little more than a hollow shell.”

 

Thenvunin goes cold at the implications.

 

But…

 

“Uthvir would not do that,” he says.

 

Lord Stalking raises an eyebrow.

 

“No?” he asks. “I wonder where your certainty comes from.”

 

Thenvunin hesitates.

 

“If they… if they meant me such harm, they could have taken advantage…” he ventures.

 

Lord Stalking shakes his head.

 

“Without drawing the notice of the court?” he asks. “You may not be prestigious, Thenvunin, but you do have __some__  connections. And if your Tengu gained that sort of reputation, it would be much harder for them to find future victims.”

 

It still sounds wrong, though.

 

“But I do not feel weakened,” he says. “If anything, I…”

 

“Illusions,” Lord Stalking interrupts. “Charms and bewitchment. I can see all the signs.”

 

He takes several steps forward, and frames Thenvunin’s face with his hands. His expression turns apologetic.

 

“Tell me truly, Thenvunin,” he asks, not ungently. “What other reason would they really have for giving you all these nice things?”

 

Thenvunin’s heart sinks.

 

It sinks and sinks and __sinks,__  until he feels numb.

 

Oh.

 

“...There is no reason,” he admits. To himself, as much as to Lord Stalking. There is no reason. No one would give Thenvunin such extravagant gifts just to buy his attention, not even for rutting season. It would not be needed. After all, Thenvunin had invited Uthvir over before they even gave him a single thing. And it was only after he let them into his home that they began to send him presents.

 

“I have been foolish,” he says.

 

His eyes sting.

 

Lord Stalking sighs.

 

“You are too trusting for your own good,” he says. Then he squeezes Thenvunin’s shoulder. “But not to worry. I am here, my dear. If we gather up all these things, I can safely remove the spells from them. It will free you of the Tengu’s influence. But I will need to have __everything__  they have left here.”

 

Everything…?

 

Oh, he __is__  a fool. Even with the revelation upon him, he finds his heart wrenching at the thought.

 

 _ _It is just pragmatism,__  he tells himself. Uthvir’s gifts are some of his finest possessions, and he had already been having trouble acquitting himself sufficiently for Lord Stalking’s outings. Without them, it will be even harder. But… if they are truly doing such harm…

 

“I will gather them up,” he says.

 

Lord Stalking stops him with a hand at his chin.

 

“Cleaning all of this up will not come without some effort from me,” he says, nearly apologetic.

 

Thenvunin ducks his head.

 

“Of course, my lord, forgive me. I am very grateful for your help and insights,” he says. “And I will do my utmost to repay you.”

 

“Good man,” Stalking praises. He lets him go, then. Tails still moving in agitation, as his eyes flit towards the soft cushions in Thenvunin’s bedroom.

 

Thenvunin does not watch him for long enough to see him smile.

 

 

 

~

 

 

Hatred, Uthvir has found, is a very interesting emotion.

 

Anger and rage are relatives of it, of course, but there are significant distinctions. What one hates might easily __make__  them angry or enraged. Those emotions, however, can only ever be temporary. Situational. Eventually, they fade, even if they can easily return again. Falling to the wayside in the wake of other things, like happiness or calm or sorrow.

 

Hatred, though, does not wear off so easily. It would not be hatred if it did.

 

And hatred is not always angry. Sometimes it is very calm. Sometimes it is cold. Sometimes it even wears disguises; masks of civility, tolerance, even kindness. Rage is like the weather; a storm that blows over. Hatred is a seed. Growing, thriving under the right conditions, or perhaps wilting and vanishing if enough time passes without the proper nourishment.

 

There are seeds of hatred that live in Uthvir’s heart. Not as many as some might suppose, but enough for them to be intimately familiar with the nature of it.

 

The new Fox at court, however, seems set to plant another one in record time.

 

Uthvir is trying not to be… unwelcome, in their focus on Thenvunin’s comings and goings subsequent to their terse dismissal from his home. He made himself fairly clear, after all, in asking them to leave, and his lack of overtures towards welcoming them back in any capacity are __also__  clear. They entertain some small hope when they see him wearing a few of their gifts again.

 

Hope that is dashed when the four-tail Fox called Stalking makes his presence known.

 

Uthvir is aware that it is not rational to despise a man just because he has taken up with someone they have bedded. They know the dangers of possessiveness, of __wanting__  things from people, and being unrelenting in the pursuit of them. Of thinking themselves somehow entitled to Thenvunin’s time or affections, his exclusive attentions, or really anything at all that he does not simply wish to give them.

 

If he wants to spend his days courting another Fox, courting Stalking, then that is rightly his business.

 

But Uthvir also does not like the way that Thenvunin’s ears go flat and his stance turns meek in the presence of the senior Fox. They do not like the way Stalking looks at him, and touches him. They do not like the magic they can feel lacing the air. Unfamiliar, and indistinct, but certainly present. They do not like Stalking’s gaze or manner or tone, though there is very little that they can concretely point to against it.

 

Just that it seems… wrong.

 

They do some digging.

 

After all, they have incidentally been spending more time at court, now - well, why shouldn’t they? - and it pays to know who is who, and what reputations abound.

 

 _ _Lord__  Stalking does not, initially, offer much clarity on that front.

 

Around court, Uthvir mostly finds the usual levels of gossip and speculation that surround virtually any spirit of note. Their __own__  reputation is worse than Stalking’s courtly one. He comes from a purebred Fox family, but one of low esteem. He was, however, formally adopted by a more noteworthy line after acquitting himself well and gaining some notoriety. He has most of the usual associations of Foxes. Several known lovers, several former flames, a reputation for promiscuity and some trickery. A few whispers, here and there, of rivals gone missing and acquaintances falling on suspiciously hard times.

 

Uthvir knows they should probably leave it at that. They know they are not being compelled by pure suspicion on Stalking’s character, but also by their… by some emotional investment in Thenvunin’s fate. A curiosity as much as anything, perhaps. An interest in seeing where the perplexing man will go, and what he will do, and who he will decide to associate with along the way.

 

They dig deeper.

 

 _ _Outside__  of courtly circles, things turn a little more promising. Foxes are a fairly abundant type of spirit. And they are very sociable; even among those who are not auspicious enough to really grace the courts and intrigues of those who travel nearer to the circles of the gods.

 

The peasantry, in essence, seem to take a far dimmer view of the Fox named Stalking.

 

Uthvir uncovers many more consistent and dubious rumours, in digging through __those__  social circles. They send some spirits who owe them favours to go and make inquiries, and the reports back have enough commonalities in theme that they would be foolish to dismiss them all as mere talk.

 

Foxes, go the rumours, have a habit of disappearing after their associations with Lord Stalking. So do other lesser spirits. Despite his four tails, Stalking is less than three hundred years old, by all accounts. Possibly even less than two. The minor purebred family he claims to hail from does not seem to exist, either, which means that Stalking could be lying about his lineage - or that they are all gone.

 

Ominous in either case.

 

Uthvir, of course, has duties outside of gathering gossip on interloping… on new faces at court. They have a territory to protect and obligations to their Lord to see through. Tasks to perform. Excursions to take. Though they rarely venture very far from their range, sometimes the course of their duties requires them to pursue things further afield, in both the mortal realm and the Spirit World.

 

But as more time passes, the nature of Thenvunin’s new relationship becomes a dissonant note that lingers at the back of their mind. Growing as days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months, and Thenvunin’s presence at court becomes more ubiquitous, but Uthvir does not see much improvement in his actual bearing. He hangs his head more. Flinches more readily. He is rarely seen without Stalking and, after a time, begins to conspicuously avoid Uthvir, too. He does not wear the new gift they send him, and they almost regret it. Wondering if it caused offence, if it was taken the wrong way…

 

It was just… they heard that he was looking for clothes. Nice things to wear at the events his new ‘patron’ kept taking him to. And it made that little, dark seed in their heart sprout a bit more, to think that Stalking would be dragging Thenvunin to and fro and not keeping him well-dressed on his own dime.

 

Thenvunin is proud. Prickly and dramatic and strange, yes, but certainly proud, too. It would be a sort of cruelty to leave him scrambling to keep up, even as one afforded him the opportunities to excel.

 

It seems, to Uthvir, like Stalking is keeping Thenvunin off-balance, more than affording him a path to ascension.

 

But they have nothing but their displeasure towards the man to support that idea. There is more weight to the reality that Thenvunin needs some new clothes; and while Uthvir does not expect him to be comfortable accepting gifts from them now - and really, part of them thinks they ought not send anything, after all is said and done - it is just…

 

Perhaps it is their own sort of pride, in the end. Knowing that they would be a better source of a support for him. Some subconscious desire to rub his choice in his face, a little. Even if they are the only one who knows they are doing it. Such an ugly impulse.

 

They do not talk themselves out of it, though.

 

 _ _And for what?__  they wonder, at first. When the gift seems to go to waste all the same.

 

But then there are duties to see to. And when they get back, other niggling concerns and little things to notice, that wear away at their attention. Thenvunin’s drooping seems to worsen. His avoidance grows even more blatant. Uthvir never sees him without Stalking, now, and at times he seems less like a man in company of a fellow Fox, and more like a shadow following in the wake of someone whose own presence has surely not depleted.

 

It makes Uthvir think of a human lord who once kept a tiger as a pet. The beast was defanged and declawed, slowly starving to death. Beaten into subservience, until it scarcely resembled a tiger at all.

 

It __cannot__  just be the ugliness in their nature that prompts their concern. Their instincts can lead them astray, but never this badly. The latest trip they have returned from finds them watching Stalking and Thenvunin in the palace gardens. Stalking chatting amicably with one of his known compatriots, while Thenvunin dozes at the opposite side of the bench.

 

He looks too thin.

 

Uthvir has only just resolved to do something when the four-tail Fox looks up, and intercepts their gaze.

 

They do not like the way that man grins.

 

But what action to take remains less clear. They know they have to consider it. And the best way to consider it is to be certain of what, precisely, is going on. They are near certain that Thenvunin is being mistreated, but __how__  is an important factor. Else the weaselly Fox behind it might just slink off from the whole ordeal unscathed. Or even remain a threat.

 

The are still musing over the idea when a little bird brings a message to them, as they meditate in their tree.

 

It is a simple slip of parchment. Lavender-scented, written on in elegant cursive that is familiar to their eye.

 

Thenvunin’s hand.

 

 _ _Dear Uthvir,__  says the letter. Their eyes widen at the familiar form of address. __We should speak. I know you are probably angry with me, and in truth, you have every right to be. But I beg your permission to air my feelings to you in person. There are some things I must tell you, if my heart is ever to know peace. Please meet me at the lake near to your sacred tree.__

 

Their eyebrows climb more and more, and something stirs in their chest as they come to the last line.

 

__Yours, Thenvunin._ _

 

For a long moment they simply sit in their tree, and stare at the missive. Their mind caught by the memory of heated kisses and soft words.

 

Has Thenvunin figured out that something is wrong with Stalking?

 

Perhaps he means to ask for Uthvir’s help in escaping the other Fox’s influence.

 

 _ _Perhaps he wishes to apologize,__  some traitorous voice whispers, too.

 

They try not to pay that thought much mind. Instead they tuck it away, just as they tuck away the letter. The scent of it seems to linger in their nose long after it should. It is a scent that they know Thenvunin likes. A deliberate perfume? They suppose they can easily imagine him scenting his letters. Uthvir breathes in a few times, almost trying to keep hold of it as they take off from their tree, and wing their way towards the specified meeting grounds.

 

The lake mentioned is not terribly large, but it is beautiful. Scenic, in its views of the forest. It is fed into by mountain streams, and holds a great many fish. Sometimes mortals come, mostly for the fish, or the surrounding game. A few pilgrims have passed through on occasion, too. They usually recognize Uthvir for what they are, but so far none have been disrespectful. It is a safe enough place; though less secure than either of their spirit homes, or even Uthvir’s tree itself.

 

But then, it is almost somewhat more __neutral__  ground than many of those places. Perhaps that is something Thenvunin needs too, for some reason.

 

They spot the Fox at a fair distance.

 

He is sitting at the small wooden dock a mortal fisherman had built at the lake shore ages ago. As Uthvir lands nearby, they are given pause by his countenance.

 

The tiredness that seemed to plague him every time they saw him at court does not seem to be present. If anything, Thenvunin looks nearly radiant. He is wearing a robe they gave him; the one they saw him in that particular night they met outside of Stalking’s chambers. His hair is loose. A few motes of foxfire drift around him as he sits and brushes it, and stares out towards the clear lake waters.

 

There is something… off.

 

Uthvir lands further away than they ordinarily would. Not certain what it is; or if it is just the surprise of seeing Thenvunin in a relatively good state.

 

He notes their landing anyway. At the sight of them his face lights up. Uthvir’s heart skips a beat - how long has it been since they saw him smile? And so rarely like that, just full of pure delight. Even a faint note of triumph, as if Uthvir’s arrival has just proven something to himself. They feel their skin heat, a little. They move closer automatically, draw like a leaf on the current.

 

“I got your message,” they say.

 

“And you came,” Thenvunin replies, with a long sigh of relief. “Oh, __Uthvir.__  Can you ever forgive me?”

 

They pause.

 

“Forgive you? For what?” they wonder.

 

“I have been such a fool,” Thenvunin tells them. He sets the brush in his lap, and turns his gaze downwards. “You have shown me such kindness. Such generosity. Far more than I deserve, and I have been ungrateful for it.”

 

“I told you, you do not have to be grateful,” they reply. Something tugs at the back of their mind. An unease that cannot quite place the source of. Disbelief, perhaps? After months of watching Thenvunin avoid them, this turnabout __is__  surprising…

 

Thenvunin lets out a delicate sniff, and brings his sleeve up to his face. A tear tracks down his cheek.

 

“See?” he says. “You are too kind to me. I yearn for your embrace, but I have been too cowardly to admit it. My heart swells with the memory of your kindness, but I know I am undeserving of it. My lips miss your lips; but how could I ask for even one last kiss?”

 

Uthvir starts moving closer again. Drawn in by their growing distress over Thenvunin’s upset. He buries his face into his sleeves as they get closer, curling in on himself and seemingly oblivious of their approach.

 

Carefully, they reach out, and set a hand on his shoulder.

 

“What is all this? What are you saying?” they ask him. Their own voice feels odd as they speak. There is something… about the air…?

 

But then Thenvunin looks up, and they are caught by the brightness of his eyes. Beautiful and warm, like the sunset. He places his hands on their chest, and leans up towards them. His collar slips, and bares a pale shoulder. His lips part. The heat in the air feels electric, like a budding storm. Motes of foxfire catch at the edges of Uthvir’s wings.

 

“Oh, my love. Kiss me…?” he asks them, breathless and beseeching.

 

Uthvir is halfway to closing the distance between them when they stop. The niggling feeling in the back of their mind finally pushing through the thick air to resolve into a single, clear thought, as they looked into the Fox’s amber eyes.

 

__Thenvunin’s eyes are green._ _

 

Their wings snap outwards. They close a hand around the Fox’s throat, tight enough to draw blood with their claws. The little seed of hatred in them flares out, and feeds into a sudden, reflexive rush of magic as they identify the illusions and beguilement enacted upon them. The tension the air, the building storm, it breaks - but not in a flood of passion.

 

Instead it snaps in a crack of lightning, a tremble of the ground. Uthvir’s aura flashes bright as they purify the shore, with a blast strong enough to turn the lake waters choppy, and strip the illusions from the Fox in their grasp. One tail becomes four. Stalking scrambles at the arm around his throat as Thenvunin’s features melt away. But something in Uthvir still feels sluggish; caught. Stymied by the magic…

 

…Woven into the folds of his outfit.

 

 _ _Thenvunin’s__  outfit. That Uthvir gifted to him.

 

Too late they realize that the trap has still been sprung, that Stalking is only trying to loosen their grip with one hand. The flare of pain in their chest is hot and sharp. They do not need to look to know that they have been stabbed. They can feel the bite of cold steel in their flesh. Piercing a gap in their armour. And they can feel the __pull__  at their magic, the Fox’s spells trying to drain them, freezing them in place. Stalking closes a hand around their wrist as they tighten their grip, and he burns their flesh.

 

 _ _“Let go,”__  he grits.

 

His free hand twists the knife in their chest, until Uthvir grabs him with their own. Their blood spills onto the boards of the dock. They struggle to tighten their own grip, fighting the white-hot pain and the scent of their own burning flesh.

 

They bare their teeth, and with a burst of defiant energy, shove the both of them aggressively forward.

 

The knife bites deeper. Stalking’s body crashes against theirs; tails writhing, flames scorching up their arm.

 

But the momentum is enough to knock them both off of the edge of the dock and into the lake.

 

Cold waters engulf them. Shining bright with Uthvir’s guardianship bond to the region, and finally breaking the last layer of bewitchment. The leaden feeling leaves their limbs, even as the pain seems to lance through them all the more fiercely. Uthvir keeps their hold on Stalking as he struggles. His fires flicker and snuff out in the choppy waters. Uthvir’s wings, in turn, are weighed down by the lake; too hard to maneuver within the lake.

 

A wave pulls them back, just as Stalking struggles with both hands to break their grip. And it’s enough to yank them away.

 

In a desperate rush, the Fox scrambles for the surface. Uthvir tries to swim after him. Folding their wings flat, asking the lake to help but only a moment too late - the Fox heaves himself back onto the dock. His fires flare, and before Uthvir can reach him again, he has flung his way through a hastily summoned portal.

 

The opening snaps shut behind him.

 

With a snarl, Uthvir strikes the post of the dock instead. Their nails dig into sealed wood, and crack it neatly in half.

 

That… that __fucking…__

 

Their blood spills into the water. The skin of their arm is covered in long, angry burns, and the blackened tatters of their sleeve.

 

 _ _Thenvunin,__  they think, with cold dread. __He has Thenvunin.__

 

And the little seed of hatred is nourished into bloom.

 

 

~

 

 

Thenvunin is trying to open a portal to his home.

 

The corner of the palace he has managed to retreat to is more secluded than most, and that is a good thing. Because he is beginning to panic, and it would not do to have such a sight be seen.

 

He had been feeling tired all day. The creeping, clawing exhaustion, which Lord Stalking had explained to be a lingering response of having broken Uthvir’s curse on him. It has been enduring for months now, though, with no clear end in sight. Thenvunin had almost begun to think it was worsening, rather than improving. But his lord had allayed his fears yesterday, showing him the vibrance of his own fire. Explaining that it was only that Thenvunin was __tired__  and needed rest.

 

Still, he had requested to meet today. Only to fail to arrive at their intended spot.

 

Thenvunin had come looking for him at the palace, and had been trying his best to make discreet inquiries when all of a sudden a wave of disorientation had struck.

 

And now he is sitting on a stone bench, near an empty segment of the palace pond network, trying not to give in to the rising terror in his chest as his hand trembles and his fires flicker, and no portal will open at his command.

 

Something is wrong.

 

Something is very, very wrong…

 

“Thenvunin!”

 

He nearly cries in relief at the sound of Lord Stalking’s voice calling for him. Dropping his arm, he gazes blearily down towards the far side of the garden.

 

“My lord…” he manages to call back. The light is too bright. He can hardly see Stalking, but for the blurry shape of many tails. At least, not until he gets close. Then Thenvunin can only frown in consternation, bewildered as he sees the lord __running__  towards him. As he realizes that he recognizes the soaked outfit that the man is wearing, as one of Uthvir’s cursed gifts.

 

Consternation turns to worry as he sees the blood on his lord’s throat.

 

“What happened?” he asks. Trying to muster himself, but still, somehow, wavering on the bench. Lord Stalking’s gift feels far too heavy today, yet his fingers keep slipping every time he tries to take it off.

 

“Oh, thank goodness you are alright!” the four-tail says. He grabs Thenvunin by the arms and hauls him to his feet, ignoring his soft gasp of protest. His grip is still strong, even if there are obvious signs of injury on him. Thenvunin sways and loses his balance, only to be dragged insistently back towards the garden entrance.

 

“What…?” he asks again.

 

“It was Uthvir!” Lord Stalking tells him. “That wretched Tengu. They attacked me, they would have __killed__  me!”

 

Thenvunin’s mouth goes dry with horror. But his mind still spins with confusion. Lord Stalking drags him stumbling along, as his heart beats too fast and his breaths come shallow, and the sinking feeling beneath his skin worsens. The necklace is starting to feel as though it burns.

 

“Why are you wearing…?” he manages.

 

Lord Stalking shushes him.

 

“I can explain more later,” he says. “Right now I need to get you to safety, before-”

 

Lord Stalking cuts off abruptly, and whirls them both around. Thenvunin loses his balance entirely, and nearly crumples to the ground. Only the hands on him will not permit it. Ordinarily that might be a relief, and it almost is - at least, until he feels one hand close around his throat instead, with the other presses him firmly in front of Lord Stalking. Turning them both to see the blur of dark brown wings; the figure of a furious Tengu suddenly blocking the entrance to the garden.

 

With a curse, Lord Stalking drags them both backwards. He lets go of Thenvunin with one hand for barely a second, and when it comes back, it is holding a knife.

 

Thenvunin thinks, for a moment, that Lord Stalking means to defend them both with it.

 

“Stay back!” the lord cries at Uthvir, pressing the blade too hard against Thenvunin’s stomach. “One move closer, and I kill him.”

 

__Kill who?_ _

 

Uthvir stops where they are. Their wings are spread; their eyes are hard.

 

There is a fury about them that is frightening. It is still, and sharp, like their countenance. Intent as any hunting bird; but burning with hatred. Such hatred that makes Thenvunin inwardly quail, even as his thoughts continue to swim in confusion. Uthvir is here to kill him. Uthvir has attacked Lord Stalking.

 

But Lord Stalking is dressed so strangely, and the knife he is holding is pressed close to Thenvunin; not angling at Uthvir.

 

And he just said…?

 

__One move closer, and I kill him?_ _

 

“What makes you think I am concerned with that?” Uthvir asks.

 

That seems like a good question. What exactly is Lord Stalking hoping to accomplish with this tactic? It would be better for them to just sound the alarm, wouldn’t it? The palace has guards…

 

Lord Stalking scoffs.

 

“Oh, __please,”__  he says. “You think you can deny it? I saw the gifts you gave him. Even after he had refused you, you were still sending them, weren’t you? And I listened to the rumours. The mysterious, aloof Tengu who cannot be bothered with court, suddenly turning up at every corner? Granted, I have no idea why you would fixate so much on this pathetic sack of fur. But your kind are known for some aberrant tastes.”

 

Uthvir glares.

 

Lord Stalking presses the knife hard enough that Thenvunin feels the cold bite of it, just shy of cutting into him.

 

He reels as Uthvir raises their hands, and the picture of events slowly disassembles itself, and then puts itself back together again.

 

“Alright,” Uthvir says. “So, we are at an impasse. If you hurt him, you lose your shield, and I __will__  kill you.”

 

A portal opens up nearby. Unlike Thenvunin’s, Lord Stalking’s tend to require anchors. Thenvunin had thought it merely a preference; something to make the image of them look more pleasing. But it must in fact be a necessity, if he is still doing it in __these__  circumstances. And the only usable anchor in this quiet segment of garden is the patch of wall next to the entrance. Closer to Uthvir than not.

 

“That is why you are going to let us walk out of here,” Stalking says.

 

Uthvir’s eyes narrow.

 

“If I let him leave with you, it is as __good__  as a death sentence,” they reply.

 

Lord Stalking tightens his grip on Thenvunin’s throat.

 

“If you let me leave, and swear not to chase me, then I will equally swear to send him back to his miserable little hovel. Still breathing,” Lord Stalking counters.

 

He begins to move towards the portal. Conjuring a few flames when Uthvir does not move away from it. The Tengu stares them down, but as the foxfire flicks towards Thenvunin’s head, they take a reluctant step back. And then another. Clearing the way, as Stalking moves, and Thenvunin is dragged, and Uthvir watches them with intensity that seems to grow by the second.

 

Their gaze catches Thenvunin’s, and holds it for a solid moment.

 

 _ _I’m sorry,__  Thenvunin thinks. He feels like he is twisting from the inside out. He had thought… he had __believed…__  and all this time, it was Stalking who was taking advantage of him. He should have seen it. The necklace. The eagerness to claim Uthvir’s gifts from him. As they pass closer, he sees blood tricking down to Uthvir’s belt. And burn marks on their right forearm, visible through the tatters of a scorched sleeve.

 

He remembers Lord Stalking’s bloodied throat.

 

As they draw near to the gate, he feels Stalking turn - just briefly - to glance towards it. The hand at his throat unthinkingly loosens.

 

With the last of his strength, Thenvunin leans forward, and then snaps his head backwards. Hard enough to smash his skull directly against Lord Stalking’s face. He hears a resounding __crack__  and feels the knife at his gut slip away, pain distracting his captor.

 

Uthvir rushes forwards, throwing a blade that Thenvunin only registers as a brief glint in the air, before he hears the wet __thunk__  of metal piercing flesh. Lord Stalking cries out in pain. And in a move of desperation, he shoves Thenvunin forward into Uthvir’s path, and flings himself into the open portal.

 

Thenvunin has no hope of keeping his feet. He crashes against Uthvir, as his vision swims. His ears ring with the sound of a portal being shut too quickly; the scent of smoke briefly bursting through the air, and leaving scorch marks on the wall behind it.

 

Uthvir curses.

 

“Thenvunin!” they then exclaim, urgently.

 

The necklace burns like fire.

 

The last thing Thenvunin registers is the sight of their hand, burning, too, as they yank it off of him. Metal warps to ugly black sludge, falling from Uthvir’s glowing claws.

 

Then he passes out.

 

 

~

 

 

When he wakes up, his head is __pounding.__

 

He does not know how long he lies in place with his eyes closed, trying to escape the angry hammering inside his skull. It feels like it lasts for a long time, though, as the pain consumes his focus, and movement is simply too nauseating to bear. Opening his eyes only subjects him to painful bursts of light, that make the whole thing worse.

 

He cannot think. He just lies in place, breathing, wishing in a bone-deep way that the pain would quiet. Trying to escape it with unconsciousness again.

 

At some point, he becomes aware of fingertips on his forehead. The touch is light, and cool.

 

Gradually, the pain in his skull eases. The touch withdraws, as Thenvunin draws in a few more breaths, and feels tears of relief slip from the corners of his eyes. The abating migraine lets him finally become aware of other hurts. His throat is dry, and aches. His chest feels oddly numb. His limbs are tingling and heavy, leaden, and he feels weak.

 

Drained.

 

Drained?

 

Memory comes back all in a rush, then.

 

__Uthvir!_ _

 

Thenvunin opens his eyes sits bolt upright.

 

It is a __terrible__  mistake.

 

The pain in his head stabs like a knife, and his stomach flips. He dry heaves and collapses back down onto something soft. Trembling as colours swim in his vision. Red and white and green. His abdominal muscles scream from the effort of sitting up. His tail twists. Hands press to his shoulders and roll him to his side, as he heaves again. The reflex conjures of flares of pain, like white-hot pokers in the otherwise numb sea of his chest.

 

“Easy,” a voice says. “Shh. You’re safe.”

 

Uthvir’s voice. Not Lord Stalking’s.

 

__Oh, thank the gods._ _

 

The blind terror in him releases its hold enough for him to stay still, and shut his eyes. Focusing again on the senses of his body, on trying to gain some equilibrium with it all. He does, after a moment, raise a hand up to his neck. The skin there feels ragged, rough - like a healing wound. It hurts to touch. But there is no chain on him.

 

Fingers brush tentatively across his temple. Pulling hair away from his face. His breaths rasp in his own ears, when the pounding of his skull abates again.

 

Eventually, careful hands roll him onto his back again. One of them brushes his cheek, while the hard rim of something presses to his lips. Thenvunin doesn’t feel bold enough to try opening his eyes again, and something in him clenches distrustfully at the prospect of parting his lips. Irrational fear weighing him down. __No, don’t make me.__

__

A murmured apology drifts down to him.

 

Then another. The hard object at his mouth is withdrawn. A moment later, something softer replaces it. Soft and warm, gently coaxing. Thenvunin parts his lips. Some hazy corner of his mind recollecting passion and care, easing the knot of suspicion in his chest. As the taste of river water lands on his tongue, it eases more. __Oh,__  he thinks. __Alright.__  He opens his mouth, and drinks a few more kisses. The water slides, cool and soothing, down his throat. It helps to ease the pain. Helps to clear the drumbeats from his mind, and the burning from his insides. His breaths stop rasping. Everything eases enough for him to feel his consciousness slide away, too, carried like the currents. Gently lulling him towards a soft darkness that offers a blessed reprieve.

 

When he wakes for the second time, the ache in his skull is down to a manageable throb.

 

He blinks his eyes open, muzzily, and sees moonlight. Soft and silver, as it spills through the opening of his bedroom window.

 

For several minutes he lies on his bed mat, and follows the path of the light to where it lands on an empty square of floor. His thoughts and memories do not take their time in returning to him. For a moment, he almost wishes they would. His body still aches, but there is a sinking feeling in his chest which has nothing to do with physical pain. Guilt, and shame, and a wretched kind of horror. There is an angry voice in his head. Outraged. How __dare__  Lord Stalking take advantage of him? If only that voice could be louder than the other one. The one that seems to stare down at Thenvunin with his own disgust, with pure recrimination.

 

__You fool._ _

__

__You unparalleled fool._ _

 

It takes him a long while to muster the strength to sit up.

 

When he does, something drifts down from his chest, and lands on his lap. He blinks uncomprehendingly down at the feather. The large, brown feather, perfectly formed. Soft and so seemingly innocuous against the blanket placed atop him.

 

Then he brings a hand to his mouth, as tears sting at his eyes, and the feelings inside of him all crack open and come apart. Breaking with him, as a flood of sobs suddenly wrack his frame. His tears drop down onto the feather. His hair falls forward, and blocks them both from the moonlight, as he weeps. Oh, how lucky that he is alive. Oh, how terrible his foolishness. Oh, __Uthvir.__  His fingers tremble as he finally reaches for the feather. They were kind to him, they were genuinely __kind__  to him, and they helped him. By all rights they should have let Lord Stalking - let __Stalking__  - drive the knife into his gut. But they didn’t. Thenvunin had believed Lord Stalking. Had thought the very worst of them, because they were a disreputable Tengu, and Stalking was a lordly Fox.

 

__They were hurt, too._ _

 

He gasps as he remembers. Swallowing past a throat that is dry again, he pushes aside the blanket. He is naked beneath it. There are bandages wrapped around the top of his chest, and covering the skin of his neck and collar. He searches blearily for a robe, and finds a small tray set out with a covered jug of cold broth and a cup. But he has to muster his strength to make it to the closet door to find his old robe hanging on the handle, and then remember the fate of the newer one. Gone, along with all of Uthvir’s gifts. Taken by Stalking - given into his own hands by Thenvunin’s foolishness.

 

His lips thin, the angry voice inside of him getting a bit stronger as he plucks up his robe.

 

It is exhausting to actually put it on.

 

But he manages. Sliding the loose sleeves on, and tying the belt to preserve __some__  semblance of manners, before he tackles opening the screen of his bedroom.

 

The rest of his house is quiet, and mostly dark. Only a few of the foxfire sconces are lit, and they are not burning bright. Thenvunin uses the wall to guide him as he takes careful steps, and looks around.

 

“Uthvir?” he calls.

 

No answer.

 

With increasing concern, he makes his way towards his front door. It is open, he notes. The air outside feels clear, at least, as he pauses to catch his breath. The borders of his property have not collapsed; a lucky thing, and probably a closer call than he would want to admit. A low wind passes by, too, and that is also promising. The grass has died in a few patches. He can see the brittle contrast of it against the greener parts in the moonlight. But some white petals drift along with the breeze.

 

__His tree!_ _

 

He turns, expecting to see the damage; and freezes at the sight which greets him.

 

The pear tree is blossoming.

 

Still small, but hale. His eyes drift down from the snowy white blooms, and gently swaying branches, and follow the dark line of the trunk to where a single, glowing feather has been pressed against it. The brown plumage outlined by the gleam of its magic.

 

Tentatively, Thenvunin makes his way over. It is harder to cross the garden, with nothing to brace himself. And as he slowly draws closer, the glow on the feather begins to fade. He tries to move more quickly. But by the time he reaches the tree, it is entirely gone. He gets near enough to see the feather itself vanish, turning to a few motes of dust. It leaves behind a feather-shaped mark on the trunk of his pear tree.

 

Reaching out, Thenvunin presses his fingertips to the soft indentation.

 

The tree thrums with life. A soft sigh escapes him, and he presses a hand fully to the mark, before leaning against the trunk. __Safe.__ For a moment the relief is overwhelming. And the feel of the tree’s life force against his skin is soothing; old magics of fertility and growth, nature and deep roots, fortifying him against the hollow pain in his bones. But then his foot strikes something. Jostling an object near the tree roots. He looks down, and sees a dark square. With some effort he bends over and manages to pick up the little wooden box, resting by his tree.

 

He hesitates. Just a moment. Fearful in a way that he cannot name.

 

Then he opens the lid.

 

Three more feathers are nestled inside the box. Over top of them is a single piece of cardstock. Thenvunin hesitates again, before angling it towards the moonlight in order to read.

 

__Use them. Feel better._ _

__

__\- Uthvir_ _

 

Thenvunin carefully puts the card back into the box, and makes certain to close it properly, before he sinks down to the base of the tree and loses himself to his tears again.

 

 

 

~

 

 

Stalking shoves Thenvunin.

 

Uthvir sees the chain around his neck turn black as night. They see his skin turn grey as ash. They catch him, hurriedly reaching their burnt hand for the cursed item. A swell of purification magic comes at their call, eager in the face of such ugliness. Internally they freeze - letting the predatory Fox lord go, because there isn’t much choice, because Thenvunin is dead weight in their arms and they cannot see him breathing.

 

They destroy the necklace, reducing it to its impurities and flinging black sludge from their claw tips, but the damage is already done.

 

The flesh around Thenvunin’s neck is a noxious wound, burned in a circle around his collar. To Uthvir’s horror, as they hold him, his grey skin begins to glow with a weak light. Motes of spirit energy start to rise from him; the surest sign of death, as the natural magic in his body attempts to return to the earth around them.

 

__“No.”_ _

 

They act quickly. Only one path to take to save him, now, so that at least makes the decisions easy. They need to get him to the Spirit World, but most specifically, to the plane where any energy he loses will be fed back into his own being. Uthvir wrenches open a portal to Thenvunin’s home, and scoops him into their arms.

 

Motes of precious of light trail behind them as they leap through.

 

Things do not look good. They observe it with a clinical eye as they run towards Thenvunin’s tree, still holding him in their arms. The house is dark, and the grass is turning brown in places. The pear tree itself has no leaves nor blossoms. Its branches are withered, and even as they draw closer, they see the bark of the tree beginning to shrivel.

 

Uthvir lays Thenvunin down atop the roots. He needs energy, first. Reaching for their wings, they brace themselves as they pluck a primary feather. The pain lances straight to their spine, and blood trickles from the wound. Healing that will take a while, but their focus is on the Fox lying before them as they press the feather to the drunk of the tree, and call upon their contract with the Dark God.

 

__I need strength._ _

 

Purple-black magic cracks around the feather. The feel of it coursing through them is always somewhat alien; strange. Like using someone else’s tools. Which, in a way, is precisely what they are doing. But it works, and that is what matters. The dark gleam engulfs their feather and wraps itself in ribbons around the trunk and branches of the tree, with a boost of power that followers their intent.

 

The glow begins to fade from Thenvunin. His skin turns from ashen grey to simply pale. Uthvir puts a hand just over his mouth, and feels faint breaths against their palm.

 

Gradually, the dark energy abates. Their own magic, bound up in the feather, remains. It halts the decay of the tree, and the spread of the dying plants on the grounds. The darkness of Thenvunin’s house eases; though the foxfires do not light themselves again. A distant wavering at the borders also abates, but Uthvir can taste the tenuousness of it all, still. Can just faintly sense malevolent spirits gathering at the outskirts. Drawn in by the scent of weakness and opportunity.

 

With as much care and speed as they can balance, they strip Thenvunin and take stock of his injuries. He is thin and bruised in some places, but the worst is by far the ugly circle on his chest. It still reeks of poisonous magic.

 

Folding his clothes, they tuck the bundle beneath his head, and begin to tend to the wounds.

 

 

~

 

 

It takes three days before Thenvunin no longer seems at risk of vanishing into light and dust on the wind.

 

Uthvir is not actually a healer by trade, but they cannot leave his side for long enough to fetch a better one. Their energies are required to keep things stable, and Thenvunin has no servants. And their own servants and allies cannot find them here. So Uthvir stays, doing the best they can with what they know. They purify his wound until the scent of poison is gone, rinsing it with cleansed water and covering it with a latticework of spells, and repeating the act as needed. Thenvunin wakes a few times, but never with any great cognition. They try to get him to eat and drink when he does, but he does not always understand.

 

Remembering the times when reasoning with him during his rut could be difficult, Uthvir resorts to feeding him drinks with kisses. A twist of guilt stirs in their chest, as they cannot help but feel as if they are taking advantage. Some part of them enjoys the feel of his lips against their own. Of being close to him again, after so much time spent in avoidance. It reminds them of the ruts, too, but they push those thoughts aside. The point is not to kiss Thenvunin. He is ill and weak; the point is that he accepts the drinks from their lips, where he will refuse to sip from a cup or bowl. And it seems to calm him down, too. Perhaps convincing some corner of his mind that this is just the exhaustion of his season; relieving him from the fear of what has gone on.

 

When he is sleeping, Uthvir soaks a small cloth in water and uses it to wet his lips.

 

They keep him by the tree for the first day. Until the shriveled bark begins to smooth, and a few green leaves start to bud on the branches. Then they carry Thenvunin inside, to make him more comfortable.

 

They are not quite prepared to see the interior of his house.

 

Uthvir holds Thenvunin in their arms for a moment, and comes up short. Staring at the bare walls and floor, the sparse furnishings littered throughout. There is not a trace of anything they gave him. The decorations, the pillows, even the rugs are all gone.

 

It makes a grim kind of sense, they suppose. But for the first time since they hurried him here, Uthvir spares a moment to indulge their hatred of Stalking. Did that Fox take __all__  of what they had given him? No wonder his beguilement nearly worked on Uthvir. Such items would have given the fox advantages, both in terms of seeming like Thenvunin, and also in terms of subverting the notice of Uthvir’s own defenses. Appearing much like a gift himself. But truly, to strip even the cushions from Thenvunin’s bedroom, to take nearly every painting from his walls, as well as the clothes from his closet… or did Thenvunin get rid of it all of his own accord?

 

The second thought brings them up short again. Before they shake it away, and then carry on to what comfort __can__  be found in Thenvunin’s little bedroom.

 

 _ _It is not important,__  they remind themselves.

 

They are not like Stalking. Not like… others. They know the limits of consent, the mandates of autonomy. Thenvunin is not sworn to them. He may do what he pleases, and if it pleases him to cut ties with them entirely, then there is nothing they can do.

 

…But if Stalking __did__  take it all, then it is just one more reason for Uthvir to focus on getting it back.

 

They wince a little as they settle Thenvunin onto his bed mat. And once they have him on it, they pause to check their own wounds. Their wings ache from pulled feathers, and the burn marks and stab wound are taking longer to heal than usual. But that is not surprising, given that Uthvir has more pressing things to spend their energy on. Their injuries __are__  healing, too, albeit slowly. Being inside the house reminds them of the existence of bandages. They pull themselves from Thenvunin side just long enough to look for some, and to their relief, find a box of such things stowed away in one of the closets. They bring it back to the bedroom, and claim a bandage for wrapping their stab wound. Before they cleanse Thenvunin’s injured collar again, and wrap it with several others. Letting them ease up on their use of magic. Which is good, because their arms were starting to go a little numb from it all, and they have used up all the favours of their contract for the time being.

 

The next few days pass more easily than the first. As Thenvunin settles, they gain enough confidence to move between his bedside and his tree. The foxfire sconces begin to flicker, and gain light again. Thenvunin sleeps, but the nature of that sleep seems to shift. Deepening and relaxing into a healing rest, rather than persistent unconsciousness. By the third day, Uthvir’s wounds have healed down to scars, and Thenvunin’s skin is pink. His own injury no longer bleeding. Uthvir checks and double-checks, and finally determines that it would be safe to leave him now. They pull some feathers to leave behind, just in case. The lingering aura of their magic will help finish his recovery, and also warn them if anything malevolent attempts to breach the boundaries of his home.

 

And then they leave.

 

Stalking has a three day head start. It could not be helped, but so long as he is out there, he remains a danger.

 

They feel an enormous amount of trepidation as they go, even so. Bracing themselves once the portal has closed behind them. Waiting to feel the alarm, as if Stalking could somehow have been prowling at the boundaries of Thenvunin’s domain. Biding his time for the first moment when Uthvir would turn their back.

 

It all remains quiet, though.

 

And the presence of their own favourite tree has a greater effect on them than they might have expected. They take a moment to lean against the trunk. Wings spread, as the energy of it sinks into them. A few of their torn feathers regrow. The primaries they used still need more time, and that means no flying. But Uthvir can do without. They fold their wings to better conceal the damage, and then set out. Heading for their own household, first, to regain even more energy, and check in with their servants. It is not uncommon for Uthvir to be gone for long stretches of time, but news of the fight had somehow spread out from the court of the gods, and they find their servants uncommonly relieved at their return and filled with questions. And, fortunately, having foreseen Uthvir’s needs, some of their scouts of have been keeping an eye out for the Fox known as Stalking.

 

 _ _Un__ fortunately, none of them have gained much in the way of leads.

 

‘Lord’ Stalking, it seems, has retreated in full. At a guess, Uthvir would suppose that the man has gone to his own household in the Spirit World. None of his servants have been seen at court or in the usual markets since their conflict. Though it has only been a few days; more than enough time for a spirit to simply hole up in their territory. One such as Stalking, with no mortal grounds to defend, would undoubtedly be able to stay in such hiding for months at a time.

 

Uthvir stays at their household long enough to eat and drink, before heading to their next destination - the court of the gods.

 

They need someone who knows where, in the Spirit World, Lord Stalking’s household is.

 

For now, that means interrogating his known lovers and acquaintances.

 

Uthvir strides into court to find the atmosphere alight with rumours and interested glances. The ‘excitement’ clearly having had some time to accumulate. They find themselves impatient with it. But they observe the proper protocols all the same. They confer with the guards, who have interest in their report on events. And they find themselves interrogated by the kirin of one of the higher deities. Lord Tasallir manages the invitations and records of those who are welcome - or not - in the courtly halls. Uthvir is somewhat surprised that he would consider banishing Lord Stalking. But apparently, they are not the only one who has been looking into the predatory Fox’s past.

 

Albeit, it seems, for different reasons.

 

“Four months ago, you submitted a request to the archives of my patron, investigating the genealogy of this ‘Stalking’,” Lord Tasallir explains. Like most kirin, he is tall and lovely, pristine but very austere. He looks like a painting, and rather acts like one, too. Moving very little; though, given the heavy finery he is draped in, that may be a necessity of his wardrobe as well. His red eyes are keen. “The paperwork crossed my desk. I noticed a discrepancy in the template. Upon investigating, I found more. And yesterday, it came to my attention that one of the clerks in my employ has been falsifying information for the sake of bribery.”

 

Uthvir pretends to be surprised, and convey the aura of one who has __certainly__  never bribed a clerk in their life.

 

“How dishonourable,” they venture.

 

“Indeed,” Lord Tasallir agrees. “He and his contributions are now being thoroughly audited. In exchange for his life the clerk has promised his cooperation, and has admitted to forging documents of lineage on behalf of this vagrant Fox. Namely, the status of breeding he used to secure the adoption and patronage of a more courtly family.”

 

“So he isn’t a purebred Fox,” they surmise. That explains some things. They have rarely known the court to actually care much for the transgressions of power-grasping and manipulation. But lying about one’s bloodline is another matter to them entirely.

 

Lord Tasallir inclines his head.

 

“Likely not. Whatever his true lineage, it seems he has destroyed the records of such a thing. If they ever existed.”

 

Well. That puts paid to the idea of digging up any more family, Uthvir suspects. Not that they had much hope of succeeding on that front anyway; it was a line of investigation they were forced to abandon some time ago.

 

They lean back in their seat, and regard the kirin lord contemplatively.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” they wonder.

 

Lord Tasallir blinks.

 

“Because this Fox is in violation of the Law, and has violated the security of the archivists whose employ I oversee,” he says. “He is an inciter of chaos and an agent of lawless deception. He should be brought to trial; and if there is a trial, then there will be a need for testimony and evidence. I would like to secure yours.”

 

Uthvir lets out a breath, and folds their arms.

 

“I am just seeking to kill him,” they say, frankly. “Not bring him in.”

 

Lord Tasallir blinks.

 

“Certainly. If you find him before the guardians of the Divine Court do, you seem to have sufficient claim on his life. But I will have others searching for him. If he is brought in alive, I can interrogate him and correct the records,” the kirin explains. “If that eventuality should pass, I trust you wold have an interest in testifying against him to assure his due punishment?”

 

Uthvir waits for a moment. But that genuinely seems to be what Tasallir is after.

 

They nod.

 

“Yes,” they agree. “Do you need me to sign anything?”

 

The kirin lord carefully slides a sheet of paper over to them, and indicates a quill pen nearby. Uthvir takes a moment to read the legal contract, which really does simply seem to affirm their agreement to provide testimony in case of a formal trial. Nothing in it, to their surprise, inhibits their ability to just plain kill Stalking in challenge if they should find him on their own. It is, as near as they can tell, a standard template.

 

…Kirin are very strange, sometimes.

 

Uthvir signs their name, and finally excuses themselves from the office of the administrator.

 

It does add some more urgency to things, though. Despite Lord Tasallir’s interests in ironing out some paperwork, Uthvir remains set upon their course of just murdering Stalking very definitively.

 

Their audiences with the man’s known lovers and associates provide a few more interesting avenues, though Uthvir is wary of double-crosses, and one or two just seem to be stringing them along for the sake of gaining notoriety through the scandal. For several days they are consumed with meeting and searching, as their servants keep their eyes peeled in the Tanuki markets and put out word among the more rural spirit communities. Even venturing to some of the mortal courts, with tales of a man of Stalking’s more human-like description being a Fox in disguise, and a malicious one at that.

 

They feel it when Thenvunin uses up the last of the feathers they left him.

 

Which means he is alive, and with no whiff of danger, largely undisturbed. Uthvir cannot resist the urge to check on him, however. With their feathers used, their sense of his territory will wane. The guardian in them, perhaps, almost wishes to renew it. But practically speaking, they simply need to make certain that Stalking will not attempt to violate Thenvunin’s home without their knowledge. They suspect he has been there, after all. He knows where it is.

 

And Thenvunin may know where Stalking’s household is. Though the older Fox is a fool if he did not keep such things ambiguous from a person he was so set upon victimizing.

 

Thenvunin’s house looks… more normal, when they open the portal to the front to the front path of it. Uthvir waits a moment, taking in the atmosphere. Their primary feathers have grown back, and most of their own strength has recovered. But they were not nearly so badly injured. Thenvunin’s house is lit, though, with foxfire glowing from the windows. The plants are mainly healthy, with a few still-wilted exceptions here and there. The pear tree is blooming. Uthvir walks slowly, taking it in, until he sees Thenvunin emerge from one of the side doors.

 

At the same time, Thenvunin’s own gaze lands on them.

 

They both stop. Freezing in place for several moments. Thenvunin is wearing a light robe, and holding a book in one hand. His hair is loose. He looks tired, and too thin, still. The wound on his collar has healed into a circular scar, that seems to trail all the way towards the back of his neck.

 

Uthvir’s own throat aches in sympathy. They hope, for Thenvunin’s sake, that the scar is quick to fade, and does not linger as too many of their own tend to.

 

They look at it a little too blatantly, perhaps. After a moment, Thenvunin closes the collar of his robe more firmly, and their eyes move to his face instead. His own linger on the visible bands across their right forearm. Remnants of the burns they neglected.

 

“...Uthvir,” Thenvunin finally says, at last.

 

“Thenvunin,” they reply.

 

A low breeze ruffles the grass.

 

Another long pause follows.

 

“Are you… feeling better?” they venture.

 

“Yes. I… Uthvir, I…” Thenvunin clears his throat, and tucks his book into one of his sleeves, as he folds his arms in front of himself. “I must beg your forgiveness.”

 

“No,” Uthvir says swiftly, shaking their head. They raise a forestalling hand. “There is nothing-”

 

“Yes there is,” the Fox insists. Snaps, even. It brings them up short, before he lets out another long breath. His head bows. “I put you in terrible danger. I was… I fell for…”

 

“You were the one who was in terrible danger,” Uthvir interjects.

 

Thenvunin glares at their burn scars. They fold their own hands behind their back.

 

“I was the one who-”

 

“Stalking nearly killed you,” they interrupt, more firmly. “He might try again. And you are still weak. I take it that he knows where your home is?”

 

There is an awkward pause, as Thenvunin opens his mouth as if to argue something. But no words come. After a moment, he just deflates again. The rings beneath his eyes look too dark.

 

“He does,” Thenvunin admits. “But I will not let him back in.”

“You may not be able to keep him out,” Uthvir counters. They hesitate, but… it really does make sense, for security… “You should come to my home. My servants can help tend to you, and Stalking will not be able to find you there.”

 

Thenvunin looks at them with an expression they can only describe as ‘aghast’. They backpedal somewhat. __He has had enough people pressuring and manipulating him for their own ends.__  And if Uthvir is being entirely honest with themselves… their reasons for wanting him in their own home are not purely pragmatic.

 

They missed him, perhaps.

 

“Not that you __must__  accept, I would not force such a thing,” they say.

 

“I could not possibly,” Thenvunin insists.

 

Their heart sinks. Their wings drop, just a little.

 

“I would not do anything to… that is, you would be free to come and go as you pleased. You would not even have to see me, if you did not wish it. I will not be there often,” they assure him.

 

“It would be much too much,” Thenvunin says. “You have already… with, with the feathers, and… and all these things…”

 

He trails off, distress visible as he mumbles something about gifts and some other things that Uthvir does not entirely catch. After a moment he steadies himself against the exterior wall. Uthvir feels a rush of guilt, at having upset him so. They make their way closer, extending a hand but Thenvunin sinks down to sit upon his porch without their help. After a moment, they awkward put their hand back at their side.

 

“My apologies. I did not mean to upset you,” they say.

 

“You did not,” Thenvunin insists, in defiance of the evidence.

 

Uthvir supposes it is to be expected, though. He has just been under the thrall of a manipulative spirit, more powerful than himself. One with status and finery and, by all accounts, a fairly large household. In his place, Uthvir would also not be eager to put themselves under the control of another such spirit. Especially not while weakened and still regaining their strength. They let out a breath, and take a step back again. Ducking into a bow, as they let the idea go. Instead they reach into their pocket, falling to their backup plan as they pull a small wooden flute from the folds of their robes.

 

Gifts may also be questionable territory. But this is not one which Thenvunin would be required to wear.

 

“I carved this flute from the wood of my tree,” they tell him. “If you find trouble, you may play it. I will hear no matter where I am, and come to help.”

 

Thenvunin stares at the instrument in their outstretched hand.

 

He swallows, hard, and then ducks his head so that his hair falls forward. Hiding his face from them.

 

With another pang of guilt, Uthvir sets the flute onto the wood of his porch.

 

“I will just leave it,” they assure him.

 

“You should not,” Thenvunin says, so quietly they almost miss it.

 

“It is not dangerous,” they promise him. “You may check the magic yourself. You may have someone else check it. And I cannot… please, I cannot leave you without some defense. Not until Stalking is caught.”

 

“No, I…” Thenvunin begins. But then his voice cracks, and he seems to lose what composure he hand managed to gain. Uthvir wants very much to go over to him. To put a hand on his shoulder, and offer some comfort. But they stop themselves. Such impositions would likely only have the opposite effect. So instead they take another step back, and another. Leaving the flute, and offering a bow that Thenvunin likely does not see; and forcing themselves to step away. To withdraw, lest they take advantage of the situation, and prove themselves no better than Stalking.

 

It is a force of effort to step through the portal and leave.

 

 

~

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (There's a time skip here - I had drafted some in-between parts but can't get them to my liking, but the essence of it is that slowly, over time, Uthvir and Thenvunin have reconciled, but they still haven't caught Stalking.)
> 
> Warnings for references to noncon. Not between the main pairing, and not graphically described, but still plainly referenced with lingering on the emotional fallout.

 

 

 

Having sex with Thenvunin outside of his rut is usually a less reliable experience than inside of it.

 

Though over the years, Uthvir thinks they have gotten better at understanding one another on this level, too. While a Fox’s cycle may be notorious, they are, of course, not known for abstinence outside of it, either. And Thenvunin is not an exception on that. Though it usually takes longer to work up to it, all things considered.

 

Uthvir likes to woo Thenvunin year round, though. Just so long as they can make the time for it.

 

Today’s plan had been to bring Thenvunin to the hot springs in their territory.

 

The springs are not widely known. Uthvir likes to keep it that way. Some of the local wildlife takes advantage of them, and they hold a great deal of natural energy. Mortals are all well and good, but they tend to reshape natural energy wherever they find it. The springs are more beneficial to Uthvir and the region as they are right now - overflowing with verdant qualities, capturing stray beams of moonlight, and rejuvenating their environs whenever their Guardian comes to cleanse them.

 

But they think Thenvunin would like this spot.

 

They know that they have guessed correctly when they pass through the last boughs of the surrounding forest, and see him take in the view. The pools and the mountain, and the flora and fungi growing in abundance around the trunks of think, ancient trees, and new growth alike. The air tastes of magic and moonlight. Thenvunin’s ears prick up, and his pupils widen a little. His nose twitches, and his tail swishes, in gestures that Uthvir has come to associate with excitement.

 

“What is this?” he asks.

 

“A secret,” Uthvir tells him, pressing a finger to their lips, and offering him a meaningful look. Then they wink. “These are my springs. I come here to warm my wings in the winter.”

 

Thenvunin glances over at the wings in question, and then meets their gaze.

 

“Do your wings get very cold?” he wonders.

 

“In the high air, I once nearly froze them during a blizzard,” Uthvir admits. “But that was when I was younger and more foolish, which is neither here nor there. Get into one of the pools; I would like to show you something.”

 

Thenvunin hesitates, just a little. As is his habit. But he seems eager enough to feel the water on his skin, as, a moment later, he begins to strip. Uthvir watches him a little, before quietly following suit. They undo the fastenings of their armour, and then pull off their under layers. Taking longer than Thenvunin, who had not bothered to wear as much. It gives them a chance to admire the view as he makes his way into the pool, though. To see how his tail dips into the water, while his ears remain perked up, and his hands skim the surface.

 

“Head for the middle,” they advise.

 

Thenvunin glances back at them. Then he shrugs, and does as suggested. Walking until the water is up past his shoulders. It gleams silvery-bright around him. His nose twitches again. His ears remain angled towards Uthvir; marking their location, as they finally finish undressing themselves, and move to the edge of the pool.

 

“What should I do?” Thenvunin asks.

 

Uthvir kneels down at the edge of the water.

 

“Go under,” they tel him. Unable to fight their anticipatory grin.

 

He blinks.

 

“ _ _Under__  under?” he asks. “But I will get dizzy!”

 

“Only for a little bit,” they tell him.

 

He purses his lips. But after a moment, he sucks in a breath, and presses his ears flat; and does as they told him to.

 

Uthvir closes their own eyes. They put their hands into the warm pool, as the steam rises into the air around them, and summon up their magic. Calling forth a rush of energy that mingles with the pool, with the lifeblood of their territory, with the nature around them and even, to their surprise, with Thenvunin, too. They feel him like a bright center in the water as they rejuvenate the springs.

 

The reflected silver moonlight rises like fireflies from the surface of the water. Which, in turn, hums and glows, and gives rise to beautiful shapes and lights and visions of colour. It is even more beautiful from underneath the water itself, Uthvir knows. But more to the point, it __feels__  amazing. Their hands tingle as their magic sweeps through them, relieving some lingering aches and soreness in their wrists. They do not know how effective it will be on Thenvunin, but they think they get their answer when they finish just a moment later, and the Fox surfaces again.

 

He is __bright__ red.

 

They worry, just for a moment. Did it hurt him? They don’t see how it could have, but…

 

But then he straightens up again, and they recognize the look on his face a little better. That __particular__  flush. That expression in his eyes. The way his ears stay back, not in fear and not to keep the water out, but as they tend to do when Uthvir has him in the midst of his rut and he is __really__  enjoying whatever they are doing. And wants more.

 

Sadly, in this case, they cannot really give more. Too much of a cleansing would be detrimental rather than rejuvenating. But they let themselves feel a certain amount of satisfaction anyway, as they take a moment to stretch out their wings, and shake the lingering tingles from their hands.

 

“What did - how did - what was __that?!”__  Thenvunin asks them, flustered.

 

He starts making his way back towards the edge of the pool, while Uthvir slides into the water themselves.

 

“Just a little ritual,” they say. “Did it feel nice?”

 

They keep the question pointedly light and innocent, while Thenvunin visibly sputters, and then settles down beside them in a huff.

 

“Trust you to somehow make a beautiful place __lewd,”__  he accuses.

 

They snicker.

 

“Oh, so it had __that__  kind of effect on you,” they say, as if they had not already guessed. Though, in fairness, they hadn’t known beforehand what sort of ‘pleasantness’ would result. Reaching out, they settle a hand onto Thenvunin’s bare shoulder.

 

He gives them a __look,__  but after a second, he also shifts a little closer. Uthvir spreads their wings out against the side of the pool. They sigh as the heat sinks into them. The sound makes Thenvunin look at them, and then move a little closer again. Pressing up beside them, settled comfortably in front of one of their wings.

 

“I am sure I don’t know what other effect it __could__  have had,” he grumbles, as he fold his arms.

 

Uthvir shrugs.

 

“Possibly that is the only one,” they say. “I wouldn’t know, I have never brought anyone here before.”

 

That makes Thenvunin go quiet. His cheeks darken a bit more, and he stares at the spring water around them. Which is fair; it looks like a soft whirl of stars and rainbows, still. Like someone dropped a painting into the waters around them.

 

After a few moments, Uthvir manages to slip a hand onto his thigh.

 

After a few moments more, Thenvunin rests his head against theirs.

 

“It… felt very good,” he says, in a rush.

 

“Tingly?” they wonder. Teasing, but only a little. It is hard for him, sometimes, to admit to feeling good. He expects it to be used against him, they know.

 

He sighs at them.

 

“That is not quite how I would describe it,” he says.

 

Uthvir blinks, genuinely curious at that.

 

“It is how it usually feels to me,” they admit. “How would you describe it, then?”

 

They move back enough to look at him. Thenvunin clears his throat, and gets flustered all over again. He stares fixedly at one of their feathers, rather than their face. But he doesn’t move away, at least. And when Uthvir gives his leg a reassuring squeeze, he finally manages to look back at them.

 

“It felt like… like being kissed all over,” he says. Then he clears his throat again, and raises a hand as Uthvir’s smirk widens. “Do __not.”__

 

“Do not what, __Then__ vunin?” they ask, drawing out his name. He huffs and lightly smacks at their arm.

 

“Do not start,” he insists. “That was a bad description, anyway. I suppose it was more like… like being groomed all at once.”

 

That piques their interest.

 

“Oh?”

 

“I could feel it in my fur,” Thenvunin insists. He folds his arms again, and nods, as if to cement the more respectable idea. “Like gentle claws in my hair and kisses on my skin. A lover’s grooming. I… not that I have much experience with that. I suppose it felt more like what I imagine that would be like.”

 

Uthvir regards him intently for a moment. Mind turning over this new development.

 

They are quite certain that they have helped Thenvunin wash, and brushes his hair, and done other things that they would consider to be ‘grooming’. So…

 

“What is a lover’s grooming?” they ask him. “A Fox thing?”

 

He glances at them, and his countenance slips towards nervousness.

 

“I mean, obviously you have… I hardly meant to imply that you never __groom__  me,” he assures them. “But… well… I suppose it __is__  a Fox thing? I mean, not that only Foxes can do it. But it is somewhat… time consuming? You go over one another’s bodies and comb out all the fur, and wash all their skin, and hair, and heal any little hurts, and if you are lovers them you kiss them a lot and mingle your scents and caress… intimate places, and make certain one another’s bodies are working as they should and do not show signs of odd growths or pains or damage. You… you rejuvenate one another. And you use magic to make the whole thing calm and gentle.”

 

He clears his throat.

 

Uthvir regards him a moment more, before reaching over and brushing a hand across his cheek.

 

“May I groom you?” they wonder.

 

It takes Thenvunin a moment to catch on. The brief flare of confusion in his gaze clears to something fretful. And faintly, beneath that, __hopeful.__  He glances over towards the surface of the pool again.

 

“Well, you just did…?” he says.

 

Uthvir raises their eyebrows.

 

“That was the Tengu way,” they tell him. “I want to try doing it the Fox way, now.”

 

He clears his throat, even though they are sure there is nothing caught in it.

 

“Ah… well… I mean, certainly we can, but, what would be the point? You just… I hardly __need__  it now, I doubt I have ever felt so ‘groomed’ in my life, I think you managed to clean inside my skeleton somehow with all that water and light and… and… things…”

 

Uthvir stands up, slowly, and then extends a hand towards him.

 

He swallows, and licks his lips, before taking their hand. Wordlessly, they pull him up, and lead him back out of the pool again. They are __intent__ , now. They lead him to a spot where they know soft, sweet-smelling vines to grow. With a flap of their wings, the spring water turns to light, and lifts easily off of their skin. And Thenvnin’s, too. He lets out a soft breath. Watching that, before he lets them pull him down to the soft patch of earth. They planned ahead, of course. Maybe not for this, but for bathing in the springs; the pack of supplies they hid away is still where they left it. Complete with soft drying cloths and brushes and combs, and lotions and oils aplenty.

 

“Where should I start?” they ask him.

 

He has gone all red again. But the look in his eyes is bringing out all the softness in them; vulnerable as it is.

 

“At… at the top, would be traditional,” he says, and gestures to his ears.

 

Uthvir nods, and moves to settle behind him. They lift the brush, and gently begin. Trying to make a go at the fur on Thenvunin’s ears. They quickly realize that the brush is the wrong tool, though. Thenvunin does not seem to mind; but his ears are made of thin skin and short fur, and all the brush can really do is press them down. After a moment they set it aside, and start to use their nails instead. Gently rubbing and scritching, until Thenvunin is struggling not to make that soft, rumbly-purr noise he sometimes makes during ruts.

 

Uthvir likes that noise.

 

They like it __very much.__

 

An idea strikes them, as they rub at the muscles at the base of his ears. They move up a bit, and lean in, and then use their mouth on him instead. Nibbling gently to part the fur, using teeth and tongue to lavish the soft, clean skin. When they brush their tongue against the inside of his left ear, just gently brushing the pink skin, Thenvunin loses his battle against the sound.

 

Oh.

 

 _ _Oh,__  they think they are going to __like this.__

 

They linger on his ears until he seems to be getting a little done with it, and then they move down to his hair. Picking up the brush again, they set about the more familiar task of gently teasing out a few stray tangles, and running their nails across his scalp. They find a lack of the usual loose hairs that such an act produces. Ordinarily, grooming Thenvunin’s hair at the end of the day tends to produce enough excess hair to make a healthy wig. But they suppose the cleansing in the water already dealt with any strays. So instead they just focus on the more sensitive places, parting and brushing and running their fingers through it, until they finally move on to his neck and shoulders.

 

They bring their mouth back, then. They trail kisses up the side of his neck and down across his jaw, and settle their hands to the oft-tensed muscles there. They are quite loose right now, though. Uthvir pauses to retrieve some of the lotions they brought. The bottle smells of their territory, of the wild plants that grow near the springs. They think of what Thenvunin said about exchanging scents, and hope this is what he meant, as they set about rubbing it into his skin.

 

They take their time to knead out the tension in his muscles, too. Working their way down every part of him, and relishing the way he loosens and leans into their touch. The way he rumbles, and sags against them, and his magic seems to rise up to the surface of his skin.

 

Uthvir gets into it. They feel __delight,__  of all things, welling up in them. Soft and warm as they make sure to examine and treat every part of Thenvunin’s body on the way down. They decide to leave his tail for last - it is long and they need the brush again for it - and move around to his front instead. They check his muscles, rubbing carefully at the likeliest places for tension to lurk, and pepper his skin with kisses. Tasting him with their tongue as his eyes flutter shut, and his breaths grow deep and even.

 

They might think he was asleep. But his tail keeps wrapping around them, too restless for that to be the case.

 

They massage his hands and feet. Check the beds of his claws, and of course, find them pristine. They rub at his soles and the pads of his thumbs and the strong muscles of his calves; and they do not let up their inspection nor treatment when they get to his genitals, either. Instead, they gather more lotion, and settle into it. Watching with a hooded gaze, and the heat building in their own skin as Thenvunin’s breaths tremble, and his shaft goes erect at their touch. They rub and caress his tenderest places, and taste them. They let their touch trail over the sensitive skin of his taint, and take his cock into their mouth, to help make certain he stays clean when their ministrations finally prove too much.

 

Thenvunin fixes a hand over his mouth to stifle himself as he comes in theirs.

 

Uthvir presses a kiss to the head of his cock, afterwards. Then they finally roll him over.

 

Thenvunin’s tail is beautiful. And despite his best efforts to disguise it, Uthvir has found it to be a playful and affectionate appendage, too, often betraying its owners feelings. Much to said owner’s embarrassment. Today seems no exception, as it curls upwards and very __pointedly__  displays certain parts of Thenvunin’s anatomy.

 

They let out a huff of a laugh, and take the brush to it first.

 

Unlike Thenvunin’s ear fuzz, his tail fur is thick and fairly long. The brush works well, especially for getting out loose fur - but again, the springs already took care of that. And it is not long enough to tangle, really. So Uthvir only uses it for the sake of thoroughness, and the pleasant feeling of the bristles moving through the fur. Then they switch to mouth and hands again, knowing quite well how sensitive the skin beneath is.

 

A curious little corner of Uthvir almost wonders what would happen if Thenvunin’s tail ever got shaved. Because the brush of their teeth and nails between the strands of his fur, the stroke of their tongue here and there as they part the thickness and find spots they can lavish affection upon, never fails to test his restraint.

 

Even now, the sounds of his pleased rumbles are interspersed with ragged breaths and twisting hips. His cock flush again, as Uthvir steadily makes their way up from the base of his tail, to the tip, and then back down to the base again.

 

A wicked thought comes to them, as they carefully hold Thenvunin’s tail, and move their mouth closer and closer to the swell of his backside.

 

Well.

 

He did say they were supposed to check over __all__  his intimate places.

 

As his tail curls back again, Uthvir moves their hands to his buttocks. They squeeze the flesh there for a moment, before parting them, and dragging their tongue down from his tail. Down to the little ring of muscles and the heated entrance it guards, to where they can swirl their tongue across it, and gently press inside.

 

Thenvunin gasps. His hands move to grip the plants around him. A needy __whine__  escapes him, as his tail curls all the way back. He gets a hand over his mouth again, but not fast enough. Uthvir feels a bolt of heat go right through them at the sound, and their course is set. They pull their tongue out and slide it back in again. Stroking his insides and working the muscle, not willing to pull back as Thenvunin flushes full-body, and twists in their grasp.

 

When Uthvir delves deep inside of him and circles their tongue just-so, Thenvunin’s hand slips away from his mouth again, and more needy, desperate sounds escape.

 

He sounds like he does in rut.

 

Or… no, even in rut, they have rarely found a __single__  act that could make him so thoroughly, incoherently undone. His hips tremble, and his cock leaks. His tail thrashes back and forth through the air. His ears go flat in submission, though Uthvir cannot really notice that yet. They eat him out until their own nerves feel like they are buzzing with hunger; greedy for the sounds he is making, for the verdant, scintillating fertility magic that is escaping him in fits and starts.

 

When he comes without a hand on him - just a mouth, still intently devouring his entrance - they nearly make a desperate sound of their own.

 

That is… that is much too much.

 

They fumble for the jar of oil. Thenvunin covers his face as they finally take their mouth away from him, panting, thighs trembling; his seed a splash of white across the dark green plants beneath his thighs.

 

It __glows.__

 

Uthvir opts not to question that, yet - it isn’t actually the first time, though Thenvunin seems loathe to really __explain__  it - and instead focuses on oiling their own insistent hardness. They soften their claws to open Thenvunin up, in turn; finishing the work their tongue did, and easing the passageway before lining themselves up with him.

 

They catch themselves before they go any further. Propriety bringing them up short.

 

“May I fuck you, Thenvunin?” they ask.

 

Their own voice sounds much lower and rougher than they would have expected. Coming out of them at a low, hungry growl, that produces another soft whine and backwards motion from Thenvunin’s hips. They catch them, holding him in place until they get an answer.

 

“...Yes,” he manages, soft but near to pleading.

 

He cries out as they thrust into him.

 

 _ _Gently!__  they remind themselves, a moment later. It takes them a moment to recollect why, with Thenvunin eager and with no resistance to his heat around their cock. But then they remember. There is… this is a thing. A special thing. Grooming. It is supposed to be gentle, and while they may have transitioned into a different stage of activities, Uthvir is not certain if that really counts or if they might inadvertently be spoiling it.

 

Thenvunin wanted this.

 

Thenvunin has not gotten it well enough before.

 

They muster up every ounce of restraint at their disposal, and linger inside of him for a long moment. Focusing on the feel of him around them. On the strain in his hips, and the sounds of his breaths.

 

When they start to move, they go __slow.__

 

 _ _Part of the grooming,__  they tell themselves. Testing his give and the feel of his insides, the ease of their passage, but also how well his muscles still flex and tighten around them. They draw out each sliding movement of themselves, in and out of him. Pulling out the same amount each time, before pressing back in again. They hold him steady, to keep him from moving back against them.

 

Their ears __burn__  with the sounds of his gasps and the soft pleas that fall from his lips, so atypical of any situation outside of his rut.

 

 _ _No,__  they tell themselves sternly, when the pressing need beneath their own skin urges them to move faster, to thrust and claim and come.

 

No, they are going __slow.__

 

They are being gentle.

 

In retaliation towards themselves, they slow down even more. Focusing on and savouring each inch of him they delve into; every bit of sensation that dances up from their cock as they slide back out of him again.

 

They do not notice when he gets hard again. But they notice when he curses and reaches for himself, and the sight of Thenvunin closing a desperate hand over his own cock, calling their name and __growling__  instead of whining loosens their grip on his hips. He rocks back into them.

 

Uthvir gasps as they manage to come at the same time. Their seed spills inside of Thenvunin, while Thenvunin’s once again falls, shining, to the ground.

 

For a long few moments, the sounds of their ragged breaths are the only ones around.

 

Then Uthvir pulls out, wings fluttering, and slumps onto Thenvunin as if they have just finished a round of his rut. Pressing themselves to him as his tail wraps around them, and they plant lazy kisses across his skin.

 

He gives them a dazed look.

 

“I… you… __what?”__  he asks.

 

Uthvir blinks, and then shrugs.

 

“What?” they return. “Was that not how it is supposed to go?”

 

Thenvunin blinks at them for a long moment, before he gives up with a sigh.

 

“Nefarious Tengu,” he gripes.

 

His tail gives them a squeeze.

 

 

~

 

 

When Thenvunin gets back to his home from Uthvir’s hot springs, he is __still__  blushing.

 

He cannot believe they… and that was… and he is not even __in rut!__  

 

He may or may not have left in a flustered hurry once the sun came up. Pulling his clothes back on and making his apologies while Uthvir just looked __amused__  and __smug__  and entirely too satisfied with themselves for making him go all… for getting him to… and with the, they… they really are __much too much__  sometimes!

 

But Thenvunin’s heart is still leaping, and he cannot deny that he feels amazing. Somehow still clean, even after all the filthy activities they got up to. And refreshed. Like he hasn’t felt since before Stalking, in fact. His steps are lighter and his foxfire keeps trying to come out in wisps and bursts, and everything just seems __brighter.__  Easier. As if his arms and legs are somewhat stronger, as if his… his…

 

He pauses as he steps through the portal to his property. Stunned into freezing in place.

 

…Oh.

 

As if his power has somehow __increased.__

 

Thenvunin stares at the widened grounds of his household. The exterior wall is still right where he left it, of course, shielding his tree from full view of the front walk, but it is no longer structured around the border of his property. Because the border has __expanded.__  Thenvunin’s heart leaps into his throat as he takes in the sight of the new property line. The territory is full of tangled growth; wildflowers and tall grass and weeds, some of which look familiar to his gaze.

 

His heart flips as he realizes the truth.

 

Back when he was just starting out, he had more power. A gift, from his mother. His property had been bigger then. His gardens more full, even though his house had more or less been the same size. A respectable start-up, all things considered.

 

Until he gave away a pearl.

 

Foxes could store some of their power into precious pearls. Stalking was not the first lover to have fooled Thenvunin, though he was the first Fox. In his youthful desire to prove that he was not simply a manipulative seducer, he had thought to give a mortal lover a token of his purest affection. Something that demonstrated his devotion, something that would mean he could never use his powers against him.

 

...In the end, it was exactly what the other man had wanted. Rather than keeping the pearl as a promise, he had used it. And half of Thenvunin’s power, all that gifted blessing his mother gave him, had gone into granting his former lover’s wish.

 

He had almost forgotten about the plants that had been lost when his household borders had caved inwards. That was before he had built the wall, to try and keep the same thing from happening again.

 

Only now…

 

Now it is back.

 

 _ _How?__  He wonders. How could it be? He is only still recovering from Lord Stalking… from __Stalking’s__  manipulations. How could he go from struggling to regain his own basic power, to increasing it? His feet move of their own accord, drawing him towards the overgrown plants. Oh, the poor things! They must have been lost in the ephemera, with enough energy to persist but no proper hands to tend them. A few motes of light, leftover from the Spirit World’s external energies, cling to the leaves and petals here and there.

 

Thenvunin touches the plants.

 

They feel quite real.

 

But what could he have possibly done to…?

 

He freezes as the thought hits. What did he do __last?__  The hot springs. And Uthvir. They used their magic on him, they fornicated with him in a spot sacred to them. Horror hits him, and he snatches his hand away as he realizes what must have happened. Foxes are __seducers__. Sex magic. Thenvunin unwittingly used his abilities to __steal power__  from Uthvir!

 

His elation vanishes as soon as it arrives, and shame replaces it so swiftly that it makes him nauseous.

 

__No._ _

 

Oh no, oh no!

 

What can he do? He has to give it back! But if he tells them what has happened, then surely they will be furious with him. He __used__  them! He used them just like…

 

His hand shakes as he presses it to his mouth, and tries to banish the thought. No, no, he didn’t, he __wouldn’t.__  It was an accident! He hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t even realized. __Uthvir__  had taken him to the springs and had sex with him in the grove, it was __their__  idea. Thenvunin had explained the grooming but he certainly hadn’t expected them to want to do it, there was no possible way he could have meant for all that happen!

 

 __You should have realized. You should have stopped it. You_ _ **_**_know_ ** _ ** __how dangerous you are…_ _

 

He closes his eyes, and drags in a shuddering breath.

 

A light breeze rustles the freshly restored plants of his domain, and seems to condemn him. He stole power from Uthvir.

 

What if they are __weakened?__

 

His eyes snap open at the thought. Oh, and he just __left__  them! Left them smiling there, looking smug but what if they weren’t being smug? What if he mistook dazed exhaustion for post-coital satisfaction? What if that smirk on their face was not just their usual arrogance, but the hypnotized expression of a victim stunned by a Fox’s sexual charms?!

 

Quick as he can, Thenvunin opens a portal back to where he left them, and rushes through it again.

 

“Uthvir!” he calls. Gods, __anything__  could happen to them! What if they try to fly and are too dizzy and crash? What if some rival comes looking for them, and they are too weak to fight? He forgets how powerful they are, that if he ever did manage to take __that__  much from them, it would probably manifest in far more than an expanded border. Instead his mind fills with the thought of them lying passed out upon the ground, as nefarious spirits skulk closer to their prone form.

 

The trees around him are quiet. The springs look empty.

 

“Uthvir!” he calls again, more desperately. Where can they… wait! The __flute!__

 

Thenvunin pulls the little instrument hurriedly from his pocket. The wood is still warm against his fingers. That must be a good a sign, mustn’t it? He brings it to his lips and plays, hoping that the magic will, if not draw Uthvir to him, somehow point him in the right direction. A single note flies from the woodwind. Clear and pure, like the sound of water against crystal.

 

The note has barely faded when a portal opens up in the tree beside him. Thenvunin turns, and is nearly crashed into as the Uthvir flies out of it.

 

“Who would __dare?!__ ” they exclaim, weapon drawn and magical energies crackling like a storm in the air around them.

 

The display is potent enough to catch Thenvunin’s breath. And to remind him just __how__  powerful Uthvir is. He stalls in answering, caught off-guard by the unexpected demonstration of potency. Uthvir circles around him, looking everywhere before they finally draw him to them and begin to pat him down.

 

It is only then that Thenvunin regains his sense. He catches their free hand. The one not holding a sword that gleams with black energy, dark as night.

 

“Are you alright?” they ask him. “What happened? Was it him? Is he at your home?”

 

Thenvunin blinks, and it takes a moment for his mind to catch up with him.

 

“Er,” he says. Awkwardly. “No, no, Uthvir I… I just, needed to find you. Are you alright?”

 

It is Uthvir’s turn to blink, then.

 

“Am __I__  alright?” they ask, as if Thenvunin is no longer speaking comprehensibly.

 

His heart sinks even further into his stomach.

 

“Are you?” he presses. “Think carefully. After last night, were you tired? Did you feel drained? Overdone?”

 

Uthvir raises their eyebrows. Thenvunin thinks he might die if they say something inappropriate right now, but apparently, some of that must show through. Their expression turns thoughtful instead. After a moment, they shake their head.

 

“No,” they say. “Not even remotely. If anything, I have felt energized all morning. What is this about?”

 

Their stance relaxes somewhat, as they seem to finally realize that there is no threat. Thenvunin’s worry only increases, though. What if they are under some kind of thrall? His words want to stick in his throat, but he knows he can’t let them.

 

“I used my powers on you,” he says, all in a rush. Just get it out, get it out. His eyes skitter to the ground, rather than meeting Uthvir’s gaze. “I must have done it without thinking. I ensnared you, and then I took some of your power. Last night the boundaries of my household expanded. I have more land, and the only way that could be is if I somehow gained more power, and the only chance for __that__  would have been when we were together, but I did not mean to do it I swear it! You have to take it back, it is not what I - I am not __like__  that!”

 

He covers his face, the shame clawing through him, making him want to hide himself forever in disgrace.

 

He flinches, reflexively, when Uthvir reaches out and settles a hand on his arm.

 

For a long moment, the hand simply rests there. Until Thenvunin musters up enough nerve to lower his hands from his face again. He does so slowly, awaiting the look of anger and betrayal in their gaze. The disgust.

 

__Filthy trickster Fox!_ _

 

He is not expecting them to look worried and perplexed.

 

“Thenvunin,” they say. “That is not possible.”

 

He swallows.

 

“But it is,” he says. “I have more __land,__  Uthvir! Old land I lost ages ago, when I made a poor choice. It is back now, though. Where else could I have gained the power for that?”

 

Uthvir’s eyebrows lift a little. They move their hand to his shoulder, but the attempt at comfort just makes Thenvunin feel all the more wretched. Is he __still__  doing it, somehow? Has he permanently addled their senses?

 

“Thenvunin, I say this with all due respect, but you are not strong enough to use magic to ensnare me. Particularly not by __accident,”__  Uthvir tells him.

 

“I did not mean to!” he insists. “I swear I-”

 

“And I believe you!” they assure him. They move their sword, and Thenvunin braces himself. But they only sheath it, before turning back towards him.

 

“I believe you, Thenvunin,” they repeat firmly. “But I do not think you have drawn the right conclusion. You say you regained power that you once lost? Not the same power that Stalking took?”

 

Thenvunin swallows, and nods his head.

 

“It was power gifted to me by my mother, when I was first starting out,” he explains. Most new spirits, even those born to prestigious or powerful lines, only begin life with little tiny corners of the Spirit World to call their own. Parents with power to spare generally give their children gifts to help them accrue more power, to keep them from… well. From ending up like Thenvunin, more or less.

 

Uthvir nods thoughtfully.

 

“Well, we performed a restoration ritual last night,” they say. “Perhaps it restored more than you would have expected?”

 

The suggestion takes him aback.

 

“But… it was never really __my__  power,” he says. “It was a gift. How could a ritual restore __gifted__  power?”

 

“How long did you have the power for?” Uthvir wonders.

 

Thenvunin has to think back to answer that one. On things he would rather not dwell on - though the timeline is simple enough, at least.

 

“A hundred years, give or take?” he reasons.

 

“There you are then,” Uthvir says, with a decisive nod. “That is more than enough time for you to acclimatize to gifted power. You were probably missing it for so long that you did not even realize you __could__  restore it.”

 

Thenvunin’s jaw drops a little, as his entire assessment of the situation is suddenly turned lopsided.

 

“I… but, but I… what… but, if __your__  ritual restored it, is it not __your__  power…?” he wonders.

 

Uthvir raises an eyebrow at him.

 

 _ _“Our__  ritual restored it,” they say. Then they gesture out towards the verdant wilderness around them. The beautiful, sparkling springs, and the wisps of spiritual energy still clinging to the area. Thenvunin can taste the strength of the nature magics, growth and revitalization, on his tongue with every breath.

 

“Neither of us took from the other. We __created__. That would be why I feel amazing, too,” Uthvir reasons.

 

For a long moment, all Thenvunin can feel is __stunned.__

 

He didn’t…?

 

Relief begins to sink through him, too potent and visceral for him to hold back the sudden stinging at the corners of his eyes. He sucks in a shaky breath, and finds himself unable to look at Uthvir for wholly different reasons.

 

“I thought…” he says, before his voice cracks and he must abandon speaking in order to hold back tears.

 

Uthvir is quiet, as he struggles with himself. As he loses the fight, though, one of their wings closes tentatively around him. They press something soft into his hands, and he realizes it is a handkerchief. White and clean and soft. He loses the battle at last and bursts into tears, and makes use of the offering as all of his fear and shame seems to spill out of him in a confused tumult.

 

“It’s alright,” Uthvir says, quietly. “Sometimes a rush of energy can make things… unstable. Hard to think through for a while. I should have considered the possibility…”

 

Thenvunin shakes his head, but can offer up no other response while trying to protect whatever remains of his dignity.

 

After several long and awkward moments of his bawling, Uthvir coaxes him into opening a portal back to his home. He almost does not know how to feel as they walk through with him, and he sees the new land again. Or old land, rather. There is so __much__  of it. Gods, did he really used to have this much territory?

 

“Oh, look it all!” Uthvir exclaims, with unabashed approval. They grin at him. “What are you going to do with it?”

 

Thenvunin swallows thickly, and manages a helpless shrug.

 

“I don’t know,” he says.

 

Uthvir bumps his shoulder.

 

“Well, you will figure out,” they decide. “Come on. We can make you some tea and find you something calming to do, while the energy settles. You need not think about it right away.”

 

Thenvunin thinks he should, perhaps, protest. If only to keep them from having to fuss over him again. But… he cannot quite bring himself to, either. All he manages is a half-hearted ‘you needn’t feel obliged’ and Uthvir just waves that off, as if there is somehow nothing at all to mind about coming and dealing with Thenvunin’s mistaken conclusions and ridiculous emotional upheaval.

 

They put on a kettle for the tea, and end up sitting with him for a few hours. The clouds shift in the ephemera above his property, and a light rain begins to fall.

 

Thenvunin blinks, utterly thrown again.

 

Rain?

 

It doesn’t… it’s never __rained__  in his property before?

 

And yet, it does. He has known it to happen at others’ households, too, of course. His mother sometimes had rain, though he does not remember it smelling quite so sweet. He watches it drip from the awning, and finally lets the fullness of the situation settle into his bones.

 

He feels…

 

He feels __good.__

 

His gaze drifts over to Uthvir, who is lounging like a rogue and sipping their tea, and watching the rain with some interest of their own. Their gaze has drifted over to Thenvunin’s pear tree, which has begun to fruit. Thenvunin’s heart squeezes, but not with fear or shame.

 

It feels like a good squeeze.

 

“Thank you,” he says.

 

Uthvir blinks and looks back at him.

 

“For what?” they wonder.

 

“For __this,”__  Thenvunin tells them, insistent upon doing it right. But the infuriating Tengu just shrugs.

 

“This wasn’t __my__  doing. If it was anything it was a happy accident, and one we made together,” they insist.

 

No matter how Thenvunin tries to insist upon it, they refuse to accept his gratitude, too. It gets to the point where the warm, tenuous feelings in his chest have just turned to frustration. By the time he is scolding them, Uhvir looks strangely relieved, and Thenvunin has almost forgotten his earlier horror and dread of having violated them. It seems a perfectly bizarre thought, in fact - as if Uthvir would have let him!

 

They leave when the rain stops, though not before stealing a kiss that makes Thenvunin forget what he was talking about.

 

“I will have to find you a gift to mark the occasion,” they insist.

 

“Do not be ridiculous,” he chides. “Reducing my shame is hardly an occasion!”

 

Their expression twists a little oddly at that remark. But then they rally again, and are back to being ridiculous all the way to their portal. When it closes behind them, Thenvunin finds himself standing alone on his property again. Staring at what he can see of the thick sea of plants, and contemplating the now-insufficient wall.

 

He supposes… well. He supposes he had best get to landscaping, then.

 

And a great amount of weeding.

 

 

~

 

 

It takes Thenvunin far longer than expected to try and get his territory back in hand. His first thought is to restore things to what had been the original design, more or less, but one of his mother’s gardeners had handled most of that. And he has mixed feelings on informing her of the change. She had been so __upset__  when he lost the land in the first place. He is not certain if bringing it back up again will make her happy or remind her of what happened before, and the hesitation leaves him silent.

 

Uthvir’s gift arrives a few days after The Dramatics. It is a small, carefully carved wooden house, that is home to a hive of spirit bees. Thenvunin stares in wonderment at the little creatures, before hurrying to find a good place to set them up. The note Uthvir had left behind with them - while Thenvunin was off getting tools for taking down some of his wall - simply says to put them wherever he wants a lot of growing things.

 

It certainly gives him some impetus to get organized. And it is a useful gift, though he also finds himself nebulously frustrated over it.

 

It is just that… he does not reciprocate enough, he thinks.

 

That is the kernel of a notion that had built up when Uthvir refused to accept his gratitude before. In past relationships, Thenvunin’s partners had always made it clear what they wanted from him. How they expected him to repay their kindnesses. But Uthvir doesn’t. It is like he is supposed to __guess,__  and yet so often he seems to guess wrong. Even the obvious - sexual favours - do not seem to correlate to their gifts. Thenvunin could tell himself that they will come to collect eventually, that it is all just disorganized because of course Uthvir is unruly, but… the answer does not fit.

 

He does not know how to answer their gestures.

 

Moreover, he knows that this is a weakness that Stalking exploited, to convince him that __Uthvir__  was the one trying to steal his energy. Because it makes no sense.

 

 _ _Tengu are generous,__  Uthvir had told him.

 

He can only think that might actually just be true. Or at least, true of Uthvir.

 

But generosity does not mean that kindness should go unanswered. Thenvunin wracks his mind as he works his land, pulling up weeds and tearing down wood and stone, digging flowerbeds and moving the good plants out of the wild tangle, to try and regain some semblance of order. He has managed to create an open square of land with no idea of its purpose, and is thinking over and over again of Uthvir’s hot springs, when the idea comes to him.

 

Uthvir. Hot springs. They liked the hot springs because their wings get cold sometimes. They even brought him a big copper bath tub, with room enough for their wings, so that they could have someplace warm to bathe when they stay over for his season.

 

Thenvunin feels a great epiphany settle over him.

 

He rushes out with a determination he has not felt in far too long. A mission. Taking a portal and then the winding dirt road to one of the Tanuki Markets. Court has been hard to stomach ever since his humiliation, but the markets, though prone to gossip, are always bustling and less apt to recognize every Fox who passes through. Thenvunin keeps a hood on and makes some inquiries with a few Kappa stall owners, before he finds himself directed to a local water spirit. A massive, jolly figure who resides at the bottom of the market well.

 

He has to follow that spirit’s direction and then a dozen more before he finds the sort he needs - and who is willing to work for him, in exchange for actual coin, rather than power or ‘favours’. Then it takes time to make the necessary changes to his property.

 

A month after his home expanded, and a month away from his next rut, however, Thenvunin brings Uthvir to visit and unveils his surprise.

 

The Tengu gapes a little as Thenvunin gestures outwards to reveal the hot spring pool, now occupying the empty square of land on his territory. And the gardens, filled with flowering bushes, now neatly organized into colourful rows around the softly-glowing spirit bee house. A basket of fresh pears sits on his porch; the branches of his tree have grown, too, and with a little space left, he has even squared off some land to expand the house with; to make his bedroom somewhat bigger.

 

The spring is the most dramatic change, though. It is not as audacious or amazing as some, but after the water spirit set it up, Thenvunin worked hard to make certain it would be pleasing to look at. The stones around the rim are smooth and pale, and there is a single, large stone in the middle. It is what the water spirit used to anchor the magic keeping the spring in place, and was a source of concern in terms of size needed. But Thenvunin made certain it looked nice, and it heats up, making it a good backrest.

 

Uthvir’s wings fluff up a little, which Thenvunin has noticed is something that only happens when they are __excited.__

 

He feels a rush of pleasure that he could never have anticipated.

 

“Thenvunin!” they exclaim. “It is __beautiful!__  You built your own hot spring?”

 

“Well, I needed a little help,” he admits. “Just to get it set up properly…”

Uthvir grins at him.

 

“I suppose it is fitting, considering how you regained the property,” they suggest.

 

He nods, as his face heats. Then he clears his throat, and lifts his chin.

 

“You are welcome to come and use it whenever you like,” he says. “If you get cold or… or need a break, or something. It is not just for me. I… I was thinking of… anyway, you should try the water. You are something of an expert at these things, after all. I will go and get some wash cloths.”

 

He hurries off before he can see their response, nervous and jittery as a hummingbird. He gathers some suitable cloths and tries to calm down his racing nerves, chiding himself for acting so strangely, before he makes his way back out again.

 

He pauses as he sees that Uthvir has taken his advice, and gotten into the water.

 

The pool is just big enough to permit them to stretch their wings out over the surface, while they lean forward and rest their body against the smooth rock in the middle of the pool. Their head is atop it, while the steam curls around their feathers.

 

Their eyes are closed.

 

Thenvunin stops and stares for a long while, arrested by the sight of them so… so…

 

So __relaxed.__

 

He almost cannot bring himself to get into the pool with them, and disrupt the scene. He moves over to the pool, and strips down. But then he just settles at the edge for a moment, dipping his feet into the warm water, and watching as Uthvir’s muscles seem to loosen more and more. Tension bleeding out of their shoulders, and the lines of their wings. Feathers twitching, every now and again, as some new part of them seems to settle in. His gaze trails up the outline of their wings, and moves towards their shoulders. His eyes catch on the scars on their back; the faint lines at the base of their wings, that he knew existed but never really thought much about.

 

Most spirits accumulate scars sooner or later.

 

Thenvunin’s hand drifts reflexively up to his neck, even though the mark from Stalking’s gift has all but faded.

 

Scars imply injuries, though. Certain sorts, even, and Thenvunin finds himself looking at Uthvir’s bare back with more unobstructed light and clarity than he usually gets. Noticing the way the scars track across the base of their wings. Running the same length, or just a little longer, like…

 

…Like hack marks.

 

Like someone tried to…

 

He swallows, numb horror striking with the realization. There __is__  a market for… for certain parts of spirits, of course. He knows that. Every Fox child is warned about the black market, and what it can spell for their kind. Fox tails and other… other things, are often considered aphrodisiacs, or ingredients for rituals and potions. Or even just as trophies. Tengu feathers are valuable, but…

 

His mind skitters away from the implications. And before he can think on it further, Uthvir lifts a wing, and brushes it against him. Blinking over at him, and them motioning him to come into the water.

 

“It is perfect,” they tell him, drowsily.

 

Thenvunin swallows, looking away from their scars with a rush of guilt, and sliding hurriedly into the water to try and disguise it. Uthvir nudges him towards them, and he goes without resisting. Mind still reeling, some voice inside of him insisting he has probably guessed it all wrong, and another actually hoping it for once. He __is__  terrible at it, he jumps to all the wrong conclusions, this entire incident should have taught him that if nothing else. Uthvir seems to still want to cover most of the pool with their wings, soaking up heat like a greedy cat, but they get Thenvunin closer and then pull him over to the central stone. Letting him rest his back against it, before they rearrange themselves to use his shoulder to keep their head out of the water.

 

Essentially sprawling in his lap. Legs spread around him, cheek on his shoulder, a wealth of skin against skin.

 

It is very, __very__  warm.

 

And Uthvir’s… their… they are sitting on his…

 

Thenvunin swallows as he feels himself react to the press of their genitals against his own. Uthvir murmurs something unintelligibly, and wriggles against him which __does not help,__  before tucking their nose up against the side of his neck.

 

Then they fall asleep.

 

It takes Thenvunin a moment to even realize what the gradual evening-out of their breaths, the steady rise and fall of their chest against his, actually means. And then he is not certain what he feels, as he tries very hard to hold still beneath the suddenly-soft and sleepy Tengu in his __lap.__

 

 _ _This is a disaster,__  he thinks, and buries his nose into their hair, and carefully settles her arms around them. Over their hips but beneath their wings, and the lines of their scars.

 

But __for__  a disaster, it has gone surprisingly well.

 

 

~

 

 

Uthvir wakes up very slowly.

 

They are warm. __Deliciously__  warm. In the hot springs, it must be. Their body is tingling, soaking in the heat through their feathers; the warmth travelling down their spine and easing the exhaustion in their joints. Their front feels even better, pressed to something firm but soft. A warm blanket seems to be secured around their waist.

 

It takes as long as it does for them to note the other heartbeat they can feel, and to recognize the scent in their nose, to realize that they are lying against Thenvunin.

 

Hmm.

 

Memory comes back. Visiting Thenvunin, after the man’s latest renovations were done, upon his insistence that he had a ‘surprise’. A favour he pulled from a water spirit. Thenvunin’s own little private hot spring. Pulling him into the water, with muzzy designs on pleasuring him, as they realized that their own springs must have left __quite__  an impression.

 

They must have been more tired than they realized, to simply fall asleep instead.

 

But their usual disquiet at that kind of thing seems absent for the moment. They shift a bit, and stretch out their wings. Everything still feels soft, though, in the way it does when they have been lulled by warmth and good magical energy. Thenvunin moves in a way that lets them know he is awake, and finally some ruefulness hits them.

 

How long were the asleep for?

 

They ease back. The ‘blanket’ around their waist unwinds, and they realize it is Thenvunin’s tail.

 

The handsome Fox lets out a sigh of his own and stretches, as Uthvir’s ruefulness even turns towards embarrassment.

 

“I fell asleep,” they note. “How long?”

 

Thenvunin stares at them. Skin flushed from the warm springs, and perhaps a little stiff, but he seems otherwise unharmed. He gives them an odd look, before clearing his throat and waving off the concern in their voice.

 

“Just an hour. I am glad that you like the spring,” he says, while looking slightly to the left of them.

 

“It is wonderful, Thenvunin,” they assure him, and take a moment to entirely stretch themselves out. Their wing joints pop, and their muscles unwind deliciously. They can’t help but groan in relief. With the new energy they worked up alongside Thenvunin at the grove, they had tried to handle a few outstanding issues on behalf of their mysterious employer. And succeeded. Though chasing down so many tainted spirits had them flying all over the place,while Thenvunin was occupied with his landscaping.

 

Lifting their wings, they start to shake some of the water out of their feathers. Thenvunin’s gaze moves to their wings, and he shifts again. The water is steamy, but a glance down has Uthvir developing some suspicions. Thenvunin __is__  generally easy to… stimulate, after all. And they were pressed quite close, for quite a while. They change the tone of their movements a little. Stretching out again, but this time being sure to show off some of their figure. They cant a hip and emphasize the muscles in their arms, and let their wings unfurl upwards.

 

Thenvunin stares, face red, ears dropping into the posture that denotes submissiveness. But Uthvir is not trying to intimidate him, by any stretch. Which means…

 

They grin, and extend a hand towards him. Motioning with one finger in a ‘come hither’ gesture.

 

“Shall we?” they ask.

 

Thenvunin sputters, to their delight. His ears move pointedly back into an upright position, and his tail splashes the surface of the water.

 

“Shall we __what?”__  he asks. “We were having a relaxing interlude! Just because - do not go assuming that just because certain, certain physical reactions might have occurred that I mean to - I didn’t - you __draped yourself all over me,__  that has consequences, but it hardly means I am going to change my plans on a whim!”

 

Uthvir blinks, as Thenvunin folds his arms.

 

“Plans?” they wonder.

 

He purses his lips.

 

“Yes, of course,” he says. “ _ _Plans.__  I had… well. You wouldn’t expect me to just fail to reciprocate, would you? I admit I have been busy but that was only because I needed to make the proper gesture!”

 

Aaand he has lost them. Uthvir lowers their wings a little, and tilts their head as they try to puzzle this one out.

 

“Reciprocate what?” they have to ask.

 

“Oh, just get out of the water!” Thenvunin insists, huffing. “You hardly need to make me __say__  it! Grab a cloth and - and __avert__  your gaze, I have to go inside and I doubt I will make it if you decide to pounce!”

 

“Pounce?” they ask, with some amusement.

 

It earns them a dire look. Uthvir raises their hands, conceding the point - if only because it seems like the easiest way to actually figure out what he’s after - and politely avert their gaze from him.

 

They have a wicked thought, as they hear him climb out of the pool, to actually do as suggested (accused?) and __pounce__  on him. It would be fun, they think, to give chase to him at some point. Of late Uthvir has found their thoughts turning towards some interesting directions on all of this. What would it be like to chase Thenvunin through their territory? They would have to give him a head start, they think. Let him use some of his abilities with illusion to blend into the terrain, to put some distance between them. But then they could try and track him. Following signs of his movements. Looking for stray foxfires. Flying up to take an aerial view, over long stretches with no cover.

 

And then when they finally caught sight or scent of him, it would be a mad race. A flash of pale hair in the moonlight, a dodge to one side. Uthvir swooping down and catching him up, awaying with him in a rush of triumph.

 

A lot of Tengu like to have intercourse in the air. It comes highly recommended. Uthvir has no idea if they could get it to work with Thenvunin, though.

 

They suppose they will have to inquire after his levitation skills at some point. But they think they like the notion. Carrying him up into the clouds, in a strange mixture of openness and privacy. Thrusting into him as their wings kept them both aloft. As Thenvunin gasped and clung to them, fur and hair ruffled by the wind, body a bastion of warmth in the cool air…

 

They jolt themselves back out of their musings as they hear Thenvunin make his way into his house.

 

After a moment, they shake their head at themselves, and then pull themselves up onto the bank.

 

They hadn’t been __lying__  when they told Thenvunin that he wasn’t strong enough to enthrall them with his magic. Not, they think, that he’s ever even __tried.__  But they might have been exaggerating a bit when they claimed that there was nothing to it. Though in fairness, they are not entirely sure if they can attribute all their preoccupations with him to some added kick from his Foxy wiles, or if it is just a natural repercussion of…

 

Liking him, they suppose.

 

With another tsk at themselves, they shake their wings out over the pool. Droplets of water scatter back across they surface. They pick up a cloth to dry themselves with, and are still at that task when Thenvunin emerges from his house again.

 

Wearing a robe.

 

Which doesn’t really disguise the tenting at the front. Uthvir smirks, and Thenvunin’s face goes very red, even as he lifts his chin and marches his way over.

 

“Lie down on your stomach,” he says.

 

Uthvir raises an eyebrow.

 

“How assertive,” they observe.

 

Thenvunin clears his throat.

 

“Get your mind out of the gutter for once,” he insists. “And lie down.”

 

Uthvir hesitates. Thenvunin is holding a bottle, they note. They cannot really see the label. Probably, by means of deduction, it is some sort of massage oil. The light goes off as they piece together the full picture, along with his earlier comments. __Reciprocation.__  Of the grooming, most likely.

 

…Sweet of him.

 

“Thenvunin,” they say, raising a hand. “You do not have to repay that gesture. I enjoyed it, quite entirely.”

 

Thenvunin looks distressingly resolute.

 

“I noticed,” he says, though, with just a note of dry humour. It surprises Uthvir enough that a mirthful snort escapes them. Thenvunin blinks, and his ears perk up at the sound. He clears his throat.

 

“Be that as it may, grooming is not the sort of thing just one person does for another,” he says.

 

“You are the Fox, and it is a Fox tradition,” Uthvir points out, trying not to let their unease show. It is one thing, really, to let Thenvunin’s hands wander a bit when he is in the midst of rut, or they just… __happen__  to be close. When passions are waning into exhaustion, and fingers might stray into feathers, or brush across the deadened skin of old scars. One thing to maybe not notice their discomfort, to maybe let themselves decide not to think about it in a moment, when the matter is already upon them.

 

It is another to just lie down and let someone touch them however he pleases.

 

Even if he has granted them the same liberty.

 

 _ _Hypocrite,__  they think, with a note of sharp self-recrimination that they cannot deny.

 

But it doesn’t exactly change anything, either.

 

“It is a Fox tradition __to__  groom as well as to __be__  groomed,” Thenvunin tells them. “Now would you just lie down so that we can get it over with already?”

 

Uthvir folds their wings against their back, and feels their demeanour grow cooler.

 

“If it is such a chore, then there is hardly any need for it,” they say. Their heart is beating faster, unease growing stronger as Thenvunin sighs and settles his hands onto his hips. And then immediately moves them away again, as it emphasizes the tent in the front of his robe.

 

Uthvir quirks an eyebrow, and moves a little closer. Keeping their wings back.

 

“Besides, it seems you might have a more __pressing__  need to attend to…” they suggest, as they reach for his belt.

 

Thenvunin bats their hand away, and determinedly takes a step back.

 

“None of that!” he insists. “No pouncing!”

 

“Really, ‘pouncing’, Thenvunin? When have I ever __pounced?”__

 

“Constantly! Though I suppose you would call it ‘swooping’ or some other birdlike thing.”

 

“You say that as if swooping is bad.”

 

“It is certainly trouble! Now stop trying to change the mood-”

 

“I think your libido might have gone and done that already.”

 

“How dare you?!”

 

Thenvunin huffs, but some of his determination cracks as Uthvir gets another hand on his belt, and draws him closer. They seize the opening to lean up and kiss him. Hungrily sweeping their tongue past his lips, and then sliding up close to fit a leg between his legs. They press his erection against their hip, and roll into the movement. Swallowing their lover’s gasp, and getting their arms around him to ensure he keeps his balance.

 

They let one of their hands slip downwards, and sink their fingers into the fur of his tail. The stroke of their nails against sensitive skin draws a shiver from him.

 

He scarcely seems to notice as they take the massage oil from his hand, and gently drop it onto the soft grass nearby.

 

“ _ _Uthvir,”__  he murmurs, in a scolding tone. But his hands grip their shoulders, and they know they have gotten him distracted.

 

They feel just the tiniest bit guilty, as they back him towards his house, and begin to pull away his robe.

 

But they think they know how to make it up to him.

 

 

 ~

 

Thenvunin’s first rut had not gone well.

 

It was not… it was not something he liked to be reminded of, his first time. Not his first time having sex, of course, by no means was it that - Foxes did not really begin their cycles until after their magic had ‘settled’, as his mother put it. Something that generally took between fifty and a hundred years to happen. Much more time than physical maturation; the cycles had more to do with the connection between Foxes and their magic, the moon, and the ambient energies of fertility in the world. Each Fox’s cycle was unique to them.

 

A part of their nature.

 

It wasn’t uncommon for families to hire __assistance__  for young Foxes, newly come into their own. Thenvunin’s upbringing had been rather atypical. He was a sickly child, and his mother had sequestered him for safety, and to help deal with the treatments he needed as he grew up. Mirena had done her best to equip him for the world, but Thenvunin was young and romantic, and so when she had suggested __hiring__  someone to help with his… need, he had balked at the idea immediately.

 

He didn’t want to __coerce__  someone into having sex with him. The very thought made him feel wretched an horribly undesirable. It made his skin crawl, in fact, to think of some ‘experienced’ professional just clinically dealing with Thenvunin’s arousal, enduring it like a chore, probably condescending to him and thinking unkind thoughts of his lustful behaviour. Seeing Thenvunin at his most vulnerable, his most low, only to take those memories away with their payment until another year had passed.

 

He wanted someone to __want__  to be with him for it.

 

Despite his mother’s concerns, he had turned down her suggestions, and had gone looking to find his own partner instead. Mind filled with a thousand romantic stories, of Foxes happening upon torrid love affairs and life-long mates after falling into bed with some fetching stranger met through unlikely happenstance, right when their cycles were starting to peak. Such books and tales were common entertainment in Fox circles; along with those cautioning of star-crossed lovers whose cycles aligned, and who could not be together, for fear of the damage done to one another in the throes of incoherent passion.

 

Thenvunin ate them all up, eagerly. Books eased the solitude of his early life, and were always simpler to become acquainted with than other spirits.

 

Court was too fine and intimidating for his aims, though, so Thenvunin had made his searching forays into public spaces within the Spirit World. Inns and baths and tea houses, theaters and markets. There was always a note of danger to such places. Outside of the celestial courts, public spaces in the Spirit World could attract __all__  sorts of folks.

 

But that had been half the excitement, too.

 

Thenvunin had been frequenting a new bath house as much as his modest coin purse would allow, when he finally crossed paths with __them.__

 

The Wolf.

 

It had taken him a few moments to place the spirit’s type. He knew they were not a Fox, just by the energy around them, but they had a canine look to their features. Sharp, red paint highlighted their face, and their ears were pointed; their fur black as night, with a single tail at their back, and dark nails capping off long and graceful hands. They were nearly as tall as Thenvunin, and when they felt his eyes on them, they turned his way.

 

Nose twitching, as they scented the air. And he finally placed their nature. A Wolf. An Okami. Spirits with a mixed reputation; sometimes noble protectors and heroes, sometimes vicious marauders and thieves. His tail twitched in excitement.

 

The Wolf had approached, looking sharp and dangerous, just a little predatory. Pointed canines in their smile, and something potent in their scent.

 

“See something you like, pretty Fox?” they asked.

 

Thenvunin had nearly tripped over his own tongue, in his haste to deny it. But the denials just seemed to amuse them more.

 

The Wolf invited themselves to join him. They had talked only casually, for that first evening. But the next time Thenvunin went back to the bath house, they were there again. They brought rice wine, and claimed to have been waiting for him. They teased and flirted, showed off the scars on their biceps, and asked Thenvunin about himself. About his family; about his interests. Where was he from, how did he find this place, who were his friends…?

 

Thenvunin found himself telling the Wolf more and more. Some of the tension left him as each night went by with only talk shared between them. Some of it changed, too, to a different sort of tension. To disappointment, even, until the Wolf finally took him home with them, in the weeks building up to his rut.

 

The sex wasn’t bad. Thenvunin had certainly had worse, and less exciting, too. The Wolf wasn’t particularly gentle, but they took some care. And the sounds of their growls in his ear, the weight of their thrusts, had him whimpering and whining far more than his dignity would have liked. They were strong; they lifted and moved him with ease, and they were not shy with their teeth or claws. They called him ‘Pretty Fox’ and kissed him thoroughly, and took his cock inside of themselves, and held him down as they claimed their pleasure with half-lidded eyes. Their own tail swishing back and forth with the rise and fall of their hips.

 

He had gone home with a split lip and a stomach full of butterflies.

 

When the time for his rut came, he knew who he was going to ask. Maybe things wouldn’t really bloom into fantastical romance, but he could think of worse ways to pass of week of incoherent lust. And his Wolf was experienced; and experience was good, he thought. Experience and excitement - when he approached them with the idea, the Wolf even declined to use Thenvunin’s own home for such a thing.

 

“You would have to show me where it was, and that could be dangerous for you,” the Wolf said. “You should not be so incautious. My house is large and fine, though. Not a mansion, but comfortable enough for such things. Come and stay the week with me; I will look after you.”

 

The butterflies had come back.

 

Thenvunin had agreed.

 

His mother had warned him before that he should not have his rut in a place that was controlled by someone else. That he should set up proper precautions on his home, and take his partner there, and make __absolute certain__  that he could force them to leave if need be. But Thenvunin was young and smitten and everything the Wolf said had made sense to him, had seemed reasonable - even generous.

 

And the first night had gone well enough. The Wolf was rougher with him, once his rut kicked in, but Thenvunin had been too consumed with desires to feel bothered about it. The intensity of his __need,__  his lust, had been amazing. Even as some corner of his mind twisted in embarrassment, the feel of his magic rising and the thrill of his lover’s touch had banished it to the furthest corner of his thoughts. He had begged and writhed and contorted himself into every enticing position he knew for hours, until the Wolf had begged off in exhaustion, and left him to rest through his first lull. What clear thoughts made it through his head were full of yearning; and a faint note of excitement, too.

 

Maybe it __was__  the romance he had been hoping for.

 

But then his lust flared again, while he was still alone in the quiet guest room of the Wolf’s house. He had called for them. Trying desperately to appease his own desires, stricken by how empty and alone he felt. When he heard footsteps, his heart had soared.

 

Only to plummet in sudden fear as he caught a strange scent; and the Wolf opened the door to reveal that they were not alone.

 

Another spirit was with them. One Thenvunin had never met. Large and unnerving, dressed in a loose robe and a full-face mask, and staring eagerly at Thenvunin’s prone form.

 

He had balked; instincts warring, fear overriding some of his lust, as the Wolf introduced their ‘friend’.

 

“Mr. First here has graciously agreed to help you through these trying times,” they said. “Your lusts are simply too much, Thenvunin. It will take a lot of helpful volunteers to keep you satisfied.”

 

A pall of shame and horror had struck him - but still not strong enough to override the rut. Later, he would learn more about the things that people sold in the black markets which were not objects at all. Things like an evening with a Fox in heat, or the location of one’s home, or pearl - especially when said Fox was alone, and somewhat unconnected from the usual protections of their community. But at the time, all he could think was that it must be __true,__  but also that he did not want some stranger touching him.

 

And yet…

 

When the man in the mask had started touching him, he had felt a thrill, too. His lusts had risen, and somehow his protestations warped into pleas, and the nature of the pleas themselves seemed to shift and change, as the pain of violation was subsumed by the grips of his desire.

 

It was his first and most important lesson on the treacherous nature of his own libido.

 

Mr. First had not seemed to care much what Thenvunin said either way. He had taken him silently, and left without even bothering to finish Thenvunin off. Mr. Second had been much the same; offering little actual reprieve for Thenvunin’s desires. Ms. Third had brought him some release, but only because she took him inside herself, rather than the other way around. Every time someone left, it seemed that someone else came to replace them. Even when Thenvunin’s libido went into a lull, and he tried to rest; he heard the Wolf bringing another ‘friend’ to his door, and despite his increased protestations, he was pushed to his knees again and violated until his needs were soaring once more.

 

It took him four days to work up enough mental coherence to open a portal, and escape.

 

His rut was not even over, but first ones could be shorter than others, and with the brief opening left to him he flung himself out of the Wolf’s house and back to his own. He had landed too high, and fallen to the grass of his garden. Bloodied and bitten and bruised, injured in places that reminded him of the worst pains of his youth. Somehow he managed to stagger inside. With a rag and his wash bucket he tried to scrub himself clean, but just ended up more raw.

 

The persisting demands of his season made his gut twist with shame. But he needed his magic to heal himself, so he warred with it. Touching himself and cursing himself, trying not to think of all the hands that had been on him, but finding little else for his mind to latch onto. Feeling even worse when the recollections __worked,__  and he came all the quicker to the thought of some masked stranger grunting above him and thrusting inside of him.

 

It took a few days for his mother to come looking for him.

 

Thenvunin couldn’t stand the thought of her __knowing.__  He wanted to die. He told her it had gone well, but of course, he was not the best liar even under ideal circumstances. She pressed; he resisted. When he broke down in a litany of sharp, reprimanding ‘no’s, though, she relented. To his immense surprise, she did not scold him for his rudeness, or even seem to take offense at his tone. Instead her face fell, worse than he could ever recall seeing it before. And she only wrapped him up in her arms and held him close, until he realized he was still saying it, and forced himself to stop.

 

Part of him almost could not stand being held by her. It felt wrong. Like he might taint her, somehow, with what had happened to him. Like her touch might remind him of the wrong things.

 

But she was his mother. Her arms only soothed him, to his immense relief. Her kisses reminded him only of safety. He let her take him back home, to __her__  home, to where he still lived more often than he probably should. Where he still felt safest. He slept in his old room, and when he could bring himself to leave it again, he searched voraciously for distractions. Running from the memories as hard as he could, while also dreading the next year, when his… when things would happen all over again.

 

Thenvunin supposes, on some level, he never really stopped trying to pretend it never happened.

 

Maybe some corner of his mind had even convinced himself that it __didn’t.__  Or at least, that none of it was real. That he had gone long enough and gotten far enough away from it all that the whole memory and every entity involved was still bound up in some distant corner of the Spirit World. Only as real as a dream.

 

At least until he is visiting one of his mother’s cousins, intent on offering congratulations on the birth of twins, and on his way back decides to stop by a little spirit shop that he knows sells beautiful flowers. He is crossing the street, mind mostly on what he will make for dinner, and whether Uthvir will be back from their journeys tonight or tomorrow; and then a familiar scent catches him.

 

It stops him cold.

 

Wolf.

 

It is the scent of Wolf, on the wind. And then the sound of a voice - rough but light with levity. Raised in laughter.

 

Every hair on his body stands at attention. His magic surges, but he stamps it back down again, before it can light a bevy of wisps and draw notice to himself. He turns, heart pounding, stomach already roiling and he __sees them.__

 

Standing outside of his favourite flower vendor’s shop. Talking to some other spirit, whom Thenvunin can scarcely take notice of.

 

There are pale white blossoms in their hair, and their clothes are tailored and well-fit. The paint on their face is pink rather than red, and their nails are filed round. But they are the same. Scent does not lie, and he knows that face. Even though he wishes he did not.

 

Before he can form a coherent thought, Thenvunin turns on his heel, and flees.

 

 

~

 

 

Uthvir is thoroughly frustrated with their inability to track down a simple, lone Fox.

 

Stalking has proven more clever than anticipated, though; and their disquiet over the situation is nearly becoming __habit,__  now. A familiar feeling, more annoyed than fearful, because even though the passage of time gives the man more opportunities to gain or regain his strength, it also emphasizes that he is probably still petrified of them. Men like Stalking do not usually enjoy living modestly, and in order to keep off of Uthvir’s radar, that must be what he is doing.

 

They manage to track down some of his old servants, and get another lead on where the Fox’s home might have moved to. But that space in the Spirit World is empty, when they arrive. Just more ether, and lingering energies that may indicate something __was__  there, but no longer is.

 

Frustration, frustration.

 

And still. There __is__  some part of them that worries, whenever they are on the hunt, that they are being led along. And that they will come back to find the viper wrapped around Thenvunin again. Leeching the life from him; holding him hostage to keep Uthvir at bay.

 

They abandon the hunt when the trail goes cold, and even though it is late, decide to prevail upon their lover for the night. Or at least, reassure themselves. They make their way to Thenvunin’s home, taking careful paths so as not to leave anyone __else__  some clue of __them,__  and wrestling with the unpleasant twist of failure in their breast.

 

The grounds of Thenvunin’s home are darkened.

 

Fresh unease settles over Uthvir, worsening their concern rather than alleviating it. They take in the scene much more keenly. The foxfires __are__  burning, they note, which means that Thenvunin is alive. That big fear allayed, they make their way swiftly but silently towards the house. Turning sharply at a hint of movement to their left, only to find that Thenvunin’s overbearing messenger bird has landed on the railing nearby.

 

The creature screams at them.

 

Uthvir winces, all hopes of subtlety dashed, and instead goes the other route. Pushing open the front door, they call out.

 

“Thenvunin?”

 

The lack of answer unnerves them.

 

 _ _Perhaps he is out,__  they try to reason with themselves.

 

Ah, yes. Out. In the dead of night. Without his Screecher to keep an eye on things. Very Thenvunin-like, of course.

 

The soft sound of something like water moving draws their attention, and they make their way hurriedly from the front room. Ready for any number of things. Stalking holding Thenvunin captive; Thenvunin, injured, having just escaped the other Fox’s clutches. There are no signs of a struggle in the house, but…

 

They pause as they spy the little alcove near the Thenvunin’s bedroom, that had been allotted to the bath tub they brought for him before his last rut.

 

The screen is not pulled, but the tub is full. Thenvunin is sitting in it. Curled up, with the water up to his chin. Tail in his arms, and ears so flat against his skull that they have disappeared into his hair.

 

The bath has clearly gone cold.

 

“...Thenvunin?” Uthvir tries again, more tentatively. Something is still wrong - but __what__  is less obvious, now.

 

They venture closer. Thenvunin’s eyes are shut. Is he injured? They can see through the water, and he doesn’t look to be. But these things are not always visible.

 

With some care for the heavy atmosphere in the air, Uthvir kneels down beside the tub. They tuck their wings down, too, and then reach out, and carefully touch the arm nearest to them.

 

Thenvunin flinches.

 

His eyes fly open. The water splashes, and for a moment, he looks so entirely __horrified__  that Uthvir is struck by it.

 

Then he seems to remember how to breathe. Shivering, and drawing pruned fingers to himself, as the foxfire lamps begin to burn a little brighter again.

 

“Oh,” he says. “Oh. Uthvir. I… I just…”

 

“What happened?” they ask.

 

Uneasy silence fills up the space between them. Thenvunin’s ears flatten again, and Uthvir feels something dark and hard settle into their bones.

 

Not for him, though.

 

They are going to __kill__  that other Fox. With even more prejudice than they had first planned.

 

“Did he come back?” they ask, low and careful to keep any accusation from their tone.

 

Thenvunin looks confused by the question, though. He shakes his head, and then he lets out a long breath. It seems as if he might say something. But whatever it is, the words don’t seem to come. And after a few moments, he starts to shiver again.

 

With a deliberate, long breath, Uthvir forces themselves to push the anger down. It’s not helpful right now.

 

Instead, they ease their way up, and offer Thenvunin a hand.

 

“Let’s get you out of the water, hm?” they suggest.

 

He stares at their fingers for a moment.

 

Taking a hint, Uthvir moves to grab up a nearby towel instead. It is clean, though it seems it was knocked to the floor at some point. They let Thenvunin push himself up from the bath, and hold out the towel. Offering him some modesty, as they help wrap it around him. He uses the wall to brace himself for getting out, rather than their shoulder. Uthvir notices, though, the vivid redness of his skin. The marks of scrub brushes and nails, used too vigorously.

 

Thenvunin pauses, once he is out of the water. As Uthvir is about to suggest getting him into some warm blankets, though, he turns to them with a sudden fervency.

 

“The __spring,”__  he says.

 

Uthvir blinks.

 

“What?” they ask.

 

“The spring. You can… you can purify, with it. Like at your hot springs. Can’t you?”

 

It takes them a moment to realize what he is trying to drive at. They have to shift the landscape of their thoughts completely to do it. Their springs? The purification, then. They take another look at Thenvunin, and think about the little spring he had put onto his property.

 

It probably would not work as __thoroughly,__  but…

 

“You want me to cleanse you in the spring?” they guess.

 

Thenvunin pauses. He shakes his head, but then nods a moment later.

 

“Could you?” he asks. “I mean, no, I don’t… I don’t want to taint it. With this. But I need… it’s still __crawling__  in me, and I can’t…”

 

He swallows, and drifts off in incoherent distress. His eyes shine with unshed tears.

 

Uthvir regards him a moment more. Then they nod.

 

“I can do it,” they tell him. “Just let me get some things.”

 

They leave Thenvunin a moment, but all they really need are some more cloths and a warm blanket to wrap him in when he comes out of the spring again. His foxfires do not seem to be heating things as much as they ordinarily do. They head for the door, and Thenvunin follows them. Seeming to shrink on himself, in that way that never fails to make them think of Stalking, that way that they __hate__  when Thenvunin is supposed to stand much more proud and broad and tall.

 

Without a thought, they stretch a wing over to help shield him from the openness of the outdoor space. Only realizing afterwards that it might be the wrong thing to do. But Thenvunin seems to relax a little at it, so they keep their wings out as they walk with him to the spring.

 

It only take a few minutes to get their Fox settled into warmer waters. Uthvir flies over to the central stone in the spring, and touches it to ground themselves. They wait until Thenvunin has ducked his beneath the water to cleanse the pool. It lights up, nearly as bright as the ones in their territory.

 

They give it a minute more, before they let go.

 

Thenvunin does not surface immediately.

 

Their heart clenches in worry, and they fly back over to the side of the pool. But just as they are about to reach in, the Fox finally comes back up again. Ears flicking to rid himself of the water, face flushed, expression open and at least a little __relieved.__

 

Uthvir sits down, and watches as Thenvunin sags against the side of the pool for a moment.

 

They feel a relief of their own when a few seconds slip past, and he finally ventures a hand towards them. His eyes fixate on their fingers as he laces them together.

 

Another moment of relief seems to pass over him.

 

“What happened?” Uthvir asks again. Resisting the urge to pull him closer.

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Just a memory,” he tells them.

 

“Was it Stalking?” they ask.

 

Thenvunin sighs, and shakes his head again.

 

“No, it… it was someone else.”

 

They wait, but that seems to be all that he plans on telling them. For now, anyway. After a few more minutes, Uthvir worries about him spending too much time in water altogether. The spring is warm but the night air is still cold. They venture some more touches, but Thenvunin no longer flinches away. With care, they get him out of the spring again, and wrap him up. Leading him back inside.

 

When he starts to cling rather than shy away, Uthvir divests themselves of their less comfortable clothing. They let Thenvunin tug them gently into his nest of cushions and pillows. He sighs when they curl around him, and turns his face into their chest as they let one of their wings fall over him.

 

After a few moments, they feel him shake.

 

A few moments more, and the wet of his tears soaks through the front of their undershirt.

 

“There was a Wolf,” he says, quietly.

 

Uthvir remains silent, so as not to cost him his nerve. One of his hands slides up under their shirt, and settles onto the skin of their chest. Pressed between them, just below Thenvunin’s chin.

 

“When I was young and even more foolish. I was smitten with them. I trusted them. It was my first time experiencing a rut, and I wanted to be with someone who wanted me…”

 

They listen as Thenvunin recounts his tale, then. Through stutters and heavy breaths. Tears dry up, but his words still skirt around some things. Until they don’t anymore. Uthvir would not need him to spell it all out, but after a few minutes, it seems as though he needs to. He tells them about masked strangers and long nights, about acts that seem to have burned themselves into his memory, despite the haze of rut and his desire to forget. Aliases and dull impressions of spirit types and voices, slim descriptions - one had a scar here; one had red hair, natural; one was clearly wearing borrowed shape - come to them, and they file it all away.

 

By the time Thenvunin has finished, the sun is coming up.

 

He finally falls asleep, as Uthvir presses a single, gentle kiss to the top of his head.

 

“It is alright,” they promise him. Layering kindness overtop of the razors that have risen up inside of them; sharp and coldly furious.

 

“It is alright, my dear. I promise you will never, ever meet any of them again.”

 

They’re already on one hunt, after all.

 

Might as well add a few.

 

 

~

 

 

Thenvunin is not entirely certain what to expect, in the aftermath of his… incident.

 

And admission.

 

He wakes the next morning to find himself still snugly wrapped up in Uthvir. Their scent all around him, like fresh, mountain wilds. Their touch gentle, as they card their fingers through his hair. For the first few minutes, he cannot muster up the energy to worry. Even though he feels the prickling aftermath of panic still lingering under his skin, his mind is peacefully blank. And he feels refreshed, he feels __clean,__  in a way he could not manage to get himself before.

 

He closes his eyes and lets himself doze a little longer. Not quite pretending to sleep, but in no hurry to rise, either.

 

Eventually, though, his mind finishes waking up and so do his nerves. He goes rigid, suddenly awash in regrets and uncertainty.

 

He told them.

 

He __told__  them.

 

And now they know that… they know, what Thenvunin felt, and how he… how it all happened, that first time.

 

His heart speeds up, and he feels as if he is waiting for the axe to fall. His gut twists at the thought, the respect he has now lost, the awkwardness that is bound to descend between them. Uthvir is still touching him, so they do not seem to have become so disgusted as to cast that aside. But what must they think of him now? He swallows as he recollects his own voice, whispering admissions…

 

__I liked some of it. That was the worst part. Sometimes I begged them to stop, but other times I begged them to keep… to keep…_ _

 

He squeezes his eyes shut a fresh wave of mortification sweeps over him.

 

Uthvir presses their lips to one of his ears, and rubs a hand up and down his back.

 

“Darling,” they say.

 

Thenvunin feels a rush of shock at the endearment.

 

“I…” he begins, unsteadily. Thrown for another loop, wondering what they are getting at as he finally pushes himself up a little. There is a look in their eyes, soft and worried, and he does not know what to do with it. It makes him __ache,__  makes the dread in his chest thaw, but it reminds him of too many things he is not meant to have, too.

 

“I am sorry, for that ungraceful display last night,” he finally manages.

 

Uthvir sits up with him, and raises an eyebrow.

 

“You don’t need to apologize,” they say. “We all have… things in our pasts, that can sometimes catch us off-guard. I was concerned, Thenvunin - not offended. Nothing about __you__  offends me.”

 

Thenvunin has no idea how to take their response. He feels something in him unclench a bit more. The nameless fear easing further, and further - just as it had when he realized he could still touch them without thinking about… without…

 

After a moment, he clears his throat.

 

“Breakfast!” he blurts, in a rush. “Where are my manners, what a disgraceful host I am being, we both need to eat and I shall see to it at once!”

 

Uthvir reaches out a hand as if to ease him, but Thenvunin __needs__  to move. To distract himself from the flood of conflicting feelings that are threatening to overwhelm him again. He doesn’t want to be overwhelmed right now, it would do him no good. So instead he rushes to his feet, and with more blurted comments and a few admittedly poor attempts at changing the conversation, gets the day underway.

 

After a while, Uthvir lets him. They sit with him through breakfast, and divert topics to more mundane things.

 

It feels… not quite normal. But close enough that it does what Thenvunin needs it to do.

 

The rest of the week passes more or less on a variation of that theme. Thenvunin keeps waiting for something to break, and distracting himself whenever it seems like it might not. He feels as if he is walking a tightrope. But apart from some additional hovering, and a sudden lull in their sexual behaviour, Uthvir’s own manner doesn’t change much at all. And even the sex comes back, when six days go by and Thenvunin starts to worry that they don’t __want__  to have him any more.

 

“I understand if you no longer find me attractive,” he admits, feeling brittle as a twig as he takes lunch with them in their own manor house.

 

Uthvir gives him a look that makes his tail twitch.

 

“Do not mistake courtesy for a lack of interest,” they say. “If you feel up to it, I will knock this table clear and have you on it right this minute.”

 

Thenvunin’s face turns bright red, and a rush of heat sinks through him; along with a tremor of embarrassment. A hint of lingering denial, too.

 

“You are bluffing,” he accuses.

 

Uthvir maintains eye-contact as they make a dramatic mess of their lunch dishes, and then pull Thenvunin up to feast upon instead. Nails digging into his hips as they devour him with such relentless determination that Thenvunin comes far too quickly.

 

But he does not think of anyone other than Uthvir when they do it.

 

And that is another fear he did not realize he had, that is put to rest. Even if it is only because Uthvir is so uniquely insatiable, it would be hard to mistake their ministrations for anyone else’s.

 

The table sex marks the end of the week-long distress, though. Thenvunin does not really __consciously__  resolve much, but things more or less go entirely back to normal, after that. Uthvir leaves on another mission or errand of guardianship; their work can be secretive, so Thenvunin is not always clear on the particulars. He feels a little more uneasy with them gone again. But he sticks to court, rather than the riskier corners of the Spirit World, and spends a weekend gossiping with Venavismi over the latest bit of drama to strike the followers of a fickle god.

 

He visits his shrines, too. The first one, and the two that have cropped up in villages near Uthvir’s territories. Screecher goes with him, and Thenvunin finds himself bringing his companion along a bit more often. Just to feel safer - even if he resumes his usual practice of determinedly not thinking about __why.__

 

Uthvir comes back. And of course, they go again, later on. Life continues apace. Thenvunin’s next rut approaches with some unusual trepidation; a final test, it feels like. And Uthvir goes exceptionally gentle with him. They don’t talk about why, and as the lust takes over, Thenvunin finds - mercifully - that he forgets about the whole matter entirely. Falling into far more recent habits, and simply going with the flow of events. Though afterwards, he does notice that Uthvir seemed to anticipate his needs with exhaustive efficiency, such that he was not often compelled to beg or plead for their attentions.

 

They are very tired, after that week. Thenvunin feels a heady cocktail of gratitude and guilt, which he manages to soothe by fussing over them. Even when they try and refute his fussing. He grooms their wings and carries them to and from the hot spring a few times, and takes a turn rubbing sweet-smelling oils into their tired limbs. Pressing his own healing spells to places where they have chafed and been over-used.

 

After the week, they turn up with another gift for him. A new hair piece. Thenvunin reciprocates by playing them a song on his lute. Uthvir retaliates yet again with a new outfit, ‘to go with the hair piece’, and Thenvunin hunts down a book of poems about the forest in Uthvir’s territories, and gifts that to them with an edge of defiant triumph.

 

He is a little perplexed when they respond a week later by delivering him a carefully wrapped wolf pelt.

 

“I don’t like pelts,” he admits, regretfully. “Fur itches. Well, other fur, anyway.”

 

“You needn’t keep it,” Uthvir assures him. “I can trade it for something else, if you would prefer. What would you like?”

 

Thenvunin thinks.

 

“Maybe something to hang on that wall?” he suggests. Pointing to a bare corner of the room that has been bothering him for a while.

 

With a nod, Uthvir takes the gift back. Thenvunin wonders if he isn’t being too fussy. But then the next day they return with a __beautiful__  tapestry; artwork of Fox dancing beneath the moon, as a goddess journeys down to meet with them.

 

“Uthvir!” he protests. “There is no chance a simple wolf pelt was fair trade for this!”

 

Uthvir shrugs.

 

“The vendor seemed to think it was fine enough,” they insist.

 

Thenvunin frowns, and tuts at them.

 

“Please tell me you did not strong-arm some poor art merchant,” he beseeches.

 

“I did not!” they insist.

 

__“Uthvir.”_ _

 

“Do you not like it?”

 

Thenvunin holds it closer as they reach a hand out, as if to reclaim it, or offer up something else in its stead.

 

“I love it. It is __beautiful,”__  he says. Satisfaction gleams in their eyes. He clears his throat, and tries to fight down his response to it. “And you cannot have it back, now. I fear what you might try to replace it with.”

 

“Hm. Perhaps an ever-escalating series of gifts, until I finally bring you the stars themselves?” Uthvir suggests, slinking a bit closer.

 

Thenvunin tries not to succumb to the flattery.

 

He cannot say he succeeds.

 

“You do not have to look so satisfied about it,” he sniffs.

 

Then he gets up and hangs the tapestry in place, and pretends not to notice his lover sweeping up on him, until they are close enough to pounce. He offers bluffing protestations; they do not stick in his throat. Uthvir growls and spins him, and carries him off. The rush of excitement and anticipation only briefly give him pause, before he lets himself succumb to them.

 

Maybe, if he is lucky, he will never see that Wolf again.

 

~

 

In hindsight, the signs should have been obvious.

 

Some other Foxes and Fox communities had noted them. The most devout, the biggest adherents. A few had even tried to spread the world to others, though even they hadn’t really caught on to the implications of the solar eclipse’s coincidence with spring and the wedding of one of the most renowned Fox patrons until fairly late into the proceedings.

 

So in the end, the majority of Foxes had been caught off-guard by the sudden, seemingly-inexplicable onset of their ruts and heats in the midst of the spring festivals.

 

The only warning which Thenvunin himself received was a sudden rush of heat, as he walked through the palace corridors with Uthvir. The sensation familiar but also jarring, in that it was __nowhere near__  his season. He stopped dead, and opened his mouth to issue a warning - or perhaps ask for help, he honestly couldn’t say - and then…

 

Then he was overcome.

 

It was like being struck full in the face by the total arrival of his rut, all at once. The solar eclipse happened outside. Inside, Thenvunin only knew he was too desperately lustful to think of anything else. His clothes dragged against his skin, as all of his sensitivities heightened. A low moan, half growl escaped him, and he could only retain enough thought to drag Uthvir into one of the empty offices - thank the gods most everyone was outside trying to safely watch the eclipse - before he fell upon them.

 

Too many layers, and too much heat. His erection went from nonexistent to painful in the span of moments, as his magic crackled through his fur and his mouth sought his lover’s. His tail wrapped around them, and his hands fumbled with the fastenings of their clothes. But before he could get any further, Uthvir let out a gasp of their own, and pushed him back.

 

No, __no,__  he needed __closer,__  not __further.__

 

“Thenvunin?” they asked him. “What is this, what’s happened?”

 

The sharpness, the urgency in their tone had him trembling. Thoughts clouding his mind, of their hands on him, moving him. Their voice in his ear, whispering promises and compliments and commands. He presses at them, trying to get closer, but when their grip tightens and they hold him back he lowers his ears and tries offering instead. Baring his throat and lifting his tail, letting a low, seductive purr escape him.

 

Uthvir’s eyes narrow. Their cheeks darken, and he can __smell__  the arousal on them. So much more clearly than he ordinarily can, with them both dressed. Oh, good, __good__ , they want him. He can do this, he can entice them.

 

“Uthvir, __please,”__  he beseeches. “Take me, please! I need to feel you so badly…”

 

He ventures in to kiss them, past that assessing, keen look that gives him shivers. Kiss, coax, __convince.__  Lover, oh please, lips and fingers, tongue and touch and slick and __heat.__  He goes gently with his mouth, submissive and beguiling, even though his instincts are clamoring for more. So desperate that his vision is clouding, and his limbs are shaking. He feels trapped in his clothes, feels the sheer urgency of his desire wiping away everything else.

 

Uthvir presses their tongue between his lips, and Thenvunin __melts.__

 

The hot slide of them inside of him echoes other feelings of them inside of him. He leans into the touch and struggles to get out of his clothing again, but before he can manage more than just pulling a sleeve askew, Uthvir wraps their wings around him and clutches him tightly. Through the layers of their clothing, Thenvunin’s arousal presses against them. He gasps, squirming, delighted and despairing all at once as his mouth slides away from theirs. As the closeness he needs is inhibited by the __damned clothes__  he’s still wearing for some reason.

 

 _ _“Uthvir,”__  he pleads.

 

They bear him down to the nearest bench, and his instincts clamour in triumph. Yes, yes, down, and then rip and pull and tear off these clothes. Hands and mouth, oh Uthvir, __please…__

 

The beseeching words spill out of him in a tumble. He can smell them, how much they want him, but instead of hiking up his clothing or undoing his belts, they pin him down as he is. Holding him in place, even as he makes as many submissive gestures as he can. They can take him, they can decide, be in charge and do whatever they please, as long as they __do.__  Thenvunin flattens his ears and shows them his throat again, he averts his gaze and lowers his tail, and spreads his legs.

 

Please, __please.__

 

He feels Uthvir’s magic washing over him. That nature-crisp-bright- _ _fresh__  sense of the energy that is theirs, rather than the Dark God’s. It… soothes, a little. Some of the frantic, near-panicked edge of desire in him relaxes. It doesn’t go away entirely, but it loosens its grip enough for Thenvunin to recollect where he is and what is going on, beyond the demands of his body.

 

The mortification threatening to rise up is wholly unappealing, and almost tips him back over again. At least until Uthvir frames his face with their hands, and turns him to look at them.

 

“Thenvunin,” they says, steadily. “Something is wrong with your magic. I need you to focus.”

 

Looking at them helps. He would not have expected it to, but it does. Their voice is steady, and over the banked lust he can still smell on them, there is worry.

 

“What is happening to you?” they ask him.

 

What is happening to him is he is not __having sex__ , is what. And he needs to! He needs to like… like…

 

“Something triggered my rut,” he tells them, trying not to loose himself in the feel of their hands on his face. It is steadying, but oh, if he could just turn his head and brush their thumb with his tongue! Draw their fingers between his lips in invitation. He’d put his mouth anywhere they wished if it got them to return the favour. Oh, __their__  mouth! His hips twist and a low, inviting moan escapes him at the memory of their lips around his cock. On his thighs. On his… his…

 

Another rush of magic lights up their eyes, and helps to steady him again.

 

What are they doing?

 

And why is it __working?__

 

“I am just trying to ground you more in the Nature aspects of your magic, by aligning it with mine,” they tell him. Did he say that aloud? He supposes he did. He blinks, still squirming but steadied enough that after a moment, Uthvir moves them both into sitting positions. They keep their wings back, blocking the view from the door as they hold his gaze.

 

“What triggered it? Can you feel any other magic upon you?” they ask him, so sternly that his ears go flat again, and he has to fight the urge to lick the underside of their jaw.

 

“No,” he says, because he can’t. It’s just them. Just the two of them, alone, with too many clothes, and Uthvir’s cock is __right there.__ Thenvunin’s layers are chafing him. He lets out a plaintive sound as their grip on his wrists refuses to abate, twisting in their hands.

 

“It’s too much,” he tells them. “I need to get out of these clothes, I __need__  to, they are like sandpaper…”

 

Uthvir’s expression eases, worry intensifying. But they let go of his hands, and __finally__  let him strip off his belt and begin to pull away the heavier outer layers of his outfit. He loosens the front of his lightest and robe, and groans in visceral relief as the fabric stops pressing so insistently against his sensitive skin. Pulling away his underthings is even better, as he finally frees his weeping cock from its confines, and feels cool air on his overheated skin.

 

Uthvir is saying something, but Thenvunin can no longer catch it in the rush of mingled relief and persistent desire. He can still feel their magic, but it is no longer steadying him. Instead it is like the tease of a touch; the barest hint of something that he wants __so much more__  of. While they keep on saying something about curses and beguilement, Thenvunin angles himself onto their lap. Before they can stop him, he presses his backside up against the erection he can feel through __their__  clothing. Moving his tail aside, letting them know just where he wants them as he brushes his fur against their cheek.

 

“ _ _Take__  me,” he pleads. His limbs tremble as he feels the press of their arousal against him. Uthvir settles a hand on his lower back, trying to steady both of them as Thenvunin rocks against their crotch.

 

Words work. Words work __so well__  on Uthvir, he knows; sharp, lovely Uthvir, who growls and thrusts into him if he begs just right.

 

“I need to feel you inside of me. Need you, right there, all of you. I am so desperate for your cock, Uthvir. Please, __please,__  I’ll do __anything…”__

 

Their hips rock back into him. Thenvunin feels a rush of lustful triumph, as their hands close around his hips. Nails at his skin, erection trapped but still pressing so plainly against his backside. He calls for them again and they pull him upwards. Fully into their lap, as if to ride them. He twists his hips and reaches back. Trying to find their belt, but before he can, they close a hand over his cock.

 

Oh __gods,__  yes!

 

Thenvunin almost does not notice the feel of them shifting away their erection as they take him in hand. Their grip is firm; practiced. They hold him to their chest as they stroke him, and Thenvunin’s mind seems to narrow down to the feel of their hand on his skin. Each brush of their fingers, and the scintillating, teasing presence of their claws. He wants them __in him,__  wants to feel that pressure from the inside, too. He grinds his hips down and then rocks up into their touch, inarticulate but so __desperate__  for more.

 

They press their teeth to his shoulder, and finally sink something inside of him. The prick of pain sweetens into a rush of euphoria as they twist their wrist, and pull him to his first culmination. The rising heat in him does not abate, but they keep going. Oh, __oh,__  he begs and pleads with them not to stop as he crests towards an even higher height, the pleasure a rush of brightness that makes his tail curl and his heart pound faster.

 

But their free hand holds him steady, their teeth refusing to move from the bite that pins him in place as they stroke him but do not __take__  him.

 

How cruel they can be, sometimes. When Thenvunin wants them so badly that he cannot even stand it. He pleads with them to come inside him, and then he lets himself rail against the denial, accusations falling as surely as beguilements had, even as his pleasure builds again.

 

“Why won’t you take me? So cruel, so cruel my Uthvir…”

 

“All I want is to feel you inside of me!”

 

“Let me please you, too, do not deny, oh please do not deny-!”

 

His complaints taper off as Uthvir brings him to completion again. They take their teeth from the bite mark at his shoulder, and whisper reassurance as his vision whites out in the rush of another orgasm. He tries to grip them, but his hands can only find their thighs beneath his. They move their free hand to his chest, pressing firm over his heartbeat as they nose at the top of his jaw.

 

“It’s alright,” they tell him. “Hush, I have you, Thenvunin. I cannot take you __here,__  but I will take care of you…”

 

His chest twists. His arousal still persists, even with his seed still spilling over Uthvir’s hand. They curl a thumb over the head of his cock, squeezing carefully in a way that draws a ragged breath from him. His hips twitch as the shock of pleasure rises up from their touch, tingling and unfurling in the molten heat at his core. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, as some spare part of him reels in confusion. It is not his season! But it __is,__  it must be. And all he can to is tilt his head back, trying to find more of Uthvir as they hold him and please him.

 

Contrition and submission follow his accusations.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Uthvir… I didn’t mean it, forgive me, I just want you __so badly…”__

 

They rub at his chest.

 

“I know,” they murmur. “It is not you. Just focus on the feel of my hand.”

 

Yes, he can do that. Gods but he __wants__  to do that. Their hand is so good! He closes his eyes, sinking into the dizzying heat of his own body, as his awareness narrows down to the feel of their touch. The slickness, as they spread his own seed across his cock, and stroke him closer and closer to relief.

 

He loses track of how many times they get him to come like that, before the grips of his lust finally loosen on him in a rush of visceral relief. He goes boneless. A sigh passes his lips, as he tilts his head dizzily, and tries to turn towards them. His awareness flickers like a candle, more exhausted than it should be. Some part of him notes that an unseasonable rut probably __would__  tire him out - especially little more than a month after his last one. But most of him just flails, aching and vulnerable, as the heat leaves him enough to let fear take its place.

 

Uthvir scoops him up. They move his undone robe to cover him. He sees their face and feels their hands, catches their scent and finds himself __calming.__

 

They have him.

 

Their magic presses in again. He hears the whirl of a portal opening. The voice of reason inside of him notes that it shouldn’t be possible to open a portal so deep in the palace… but the dark energies remind him that Uthvir has powers beyond what would be ordinary. He sees flickering purple and black, and curls his arms around their neck. They whisper something he does not hear, but it sounds reassuring as they carry him through.

 

And then he nearly goes boneless again in __relief,__  as the familiar atmosphere of his home settles around him.

 

Home.

 

Safe.

 

And with Uthvir.

 

He presses kisses to the side of their neck as they carry him into his house. The warmth of his own foxfire torches and the scent of his own walls, familiar if humble, pull a sigh from his lips. He sinks his fingers into their hair. Worries his teeth against the side of one of their small, naked ears. Pulls at the ties of their tunic, and lets his tail wrap around their waist.

 

They tilt their head and catch his lips with a kiss, before they lower him to his bed.

 

But then they pull his hands away from themselves, and press him down into the cushions.

 

“I’ll be back,” they say. Still dressed, despite his best efforts, and standing too far away from him. Thenvunin reaches for them, but they evade his grasp.

 

“Uthvir!” he protests.

 

“I have to attend some things, Thenvunin. I will be back as __soon__  as I can,” they tell him.

 

What do they have to do that is more important than this?

 

The Reasonable Voice tries to remind him that unlike a usual rut, they have not exactly blocked off a week of free time to frolic between the sheets. But that does not do much to soothe the sudden feeling of rejection, the frustration and the desire to have Uthvir __here,__  where he can touch them and smell them and finally get at their skin. His fingertips brush across some of their feathers, but he is too exhausted to give chase. Nor to offer any enticements, as they offer him another apology and assurance, and then __leave.__

 

Uthvir __leaves.__

 

Thenvunin crushes a pillow to his chest, as tears slip down his cheeks, and the hollow feeling inside of him grows.

 

 

~

 

 

 

Thenvunin’s skin is burning again, by the time Uthvir comes back.

 

The sounds of their returning footsteps carry visceral relief. The scent of them eases him again, and he arranges himself into a provocative position. Tail swaying alluringly, hips and backside aimed towards the entrance, and one hand steadily stroking himself. He lets his pheromones infuse the magical energy in the house, beckoning as much __come hither__  as he can manage.

 

But he still turns to look, to see them come into the room as they finally do. The scent of lust spikes again. Thenvunin rolls over to face them, to show them what his hand is doing as he parts his lips, and pants their name.

 

“ _ _Uthvir.”__

 

Their eyes almost seem to touch him with the intensity of their gaze. They pull off their clothes, fast but almost not fast enough. Thenvunin licks his lips and moves to help. He drags away their belt and takes their gloves off with his teeth. Looking up at them through his lashes as he trails his tail up the side of their leg. When their last layer comes off, he feels a rush of excitement at the sight of their erection.

 

He closes a hand over it, and purrs invitingly at them. They brush a hand across his cheek. He nuzzles their palm, before letting them go to lean back.

 

“Fuck me,” he begs. “Take me! Drive your cock into me, please, I want to __feel__  it…”

 

Uthvir pulls his hand from them, and lowers him down to bend him over their lap. The heated skin of his erection brushes their thighs. His breath hitches as they caress his tail, and then close their mouth across a segment of it. Holding it in place in a way that makes the sensitive skin tingle at the sharp threat of teeth, and keeps him from moving as they uncork a bottle of oil, and finally press their fingers between his cheeks.

 

It takes __so long__  for them to work him open. The pressure of their fingers inside of him is a wealth of sensations, angling towards the spot that makes his cock twitch as a thrum of pleasure stirs up his loins. But it is too gentle, too soft, he wants the __thrusting,__  want to feel their claws in his hips and their breath on his skin, wants their tongue, wants their __cock__ , going so deep that he tastes the salt of their seed at the back of his throat when they come.

 

He rocks into their touch as much as he can with their teeth at his tail, shivering at the friction against his cock. They crook their fingers inside of him, and __press__  at that spot, one thumb on his taint and his arousal trapped between them.

 

A stuttering groan escapes him as he comes.

 

“Uthvir!” he calls, beseeching. Orgasm not a release, not yet. He rocks his hips more, begging, inviting, trying every trick his knows as he promises them anything they want until they __finally__ roll him to his back. Pushing his legs up and angling themselves with his entrance; their gaze searing and breathtaking, eyes so intent, expression ardent in a way that makes Thenvunin’s heart stutter from more than just lust.

 

They push into him, filling him up, knocking the breath from him again as they do just what he wanted. Their nails grip his hips, and hold him up so that his tail is not crushed uncomfortably beneath him. And then move into him in a steady, relentless slide of pleasure. He reaches down to touch himself, stroking and yielding. The weight of his own hand and the feel of them inside of him is __bliss,__  but he needs more. Needs the movement, needs __them.__

 

“Please,” he begs, with their cock inside of him, and their eyes upon him, and his own hand mirroring the pleasure they gave him before.

 

It works.

 

They hold him down, and fuck him until his ragged moans are near to screams. Thrusting determinedly, keeping him in place as he spills over his hand and stomach, and then has to brace himself against the cushions. His cock bobs, still flushed and desperate, while their wings stretch up towards the ceiling, and they call his name back to him.

 

__Oh, Uthvir. My Uthvir._ _

 

It feels so good that he almost tries to escape it, somehow. Dizzying as they go and go, and manage to outlast him through another culmination, before they finally jerk their hips more raggedly, and come inside of him. Thenvunin tastes iron instead of salt, from where one of his teeth grazed his tongue. But his mind races, fixating on the sense of being filled, on the warmth he imagines flooding through his insides. They take him in their hand again, and work him to another completion, keeping themselves inside of him until he comes enough times to finish the round.

 

The sounds of their breaths fill up the small room.

 

Thenvunin reaches for them. Uthvir finally slides out of him, limp and slick, and lets him pull them close enough to nuzzle. They lazily kiss the corner of his mouth. He returns the favour, and brushes his fingers over their soft feathers, and their soft skin.

 

When his breaths have evened out somewhat, though, they pull back from him again.

 

A kiss to the bridge of his nose, and then - incomprehensibly - they stand up.

 

“I will be back,” they tell him.

 

“No!” he protests, even as he tries not to. The lurching unease at them leaving is hard to ignore. They catch the hand he reaches for them, though, and then they press an apologetic kiss to his knuckles.

 

“I have to go, Thenvunin. The eclipse has driven every Fox in the region into the height of their cycle,” they say.

 

The words don’t make sense. What does __every__  Fox matter? Uthvir is Thenvunin’s! Nevermind the Reasonable Voice, they need to be __here__ , with him! He pulls at them, and they say something about disasters and people needing help, and he doesn’t understand even though part of him does. He forces himself to let them go.

 

But as soon as they do, his heart sinks into his stomach. The wretched, hollow feeling comes back.

 

__Worthless._ _

__

__They won’t stay for you._ _

__

__You failed._ _

 

He finds a cushion that smells like them, and tries to ride out the worst of the feelings.

 

 

~

 

 

They are gone for longer, this time.

 

Thenvunin has found his favourite jade toy in their absence. A gift they gave him; one he had deposited into a safety box, rather than turning over to Stalking in embarrassment. So it had not been lost, in the end. He presses it inside of himself, and makes do with his hand, but it only helps __one__  hollow feeling and not the other.

 

He has just slid the toy back out again when he hears Uthvir return. The relief that steals over him, and the rush of __want,__  both send him scrambling. Too eager to meet them, even if his coordination is poor. He sags against the side of the bedroom door, tail waving but legs shaky, and eagerly breathes in their scent as they come back inside.

 

Their scent and…

 

His nostrils flare. He freezes in place, rooted to the spot as he catches the unmistakable scent of __other Foxes.__

 

Other Foxes __in heat.__

 

Uthvir shuts the front door, and Thenvunin rushes them. All but pouncing as his instincts go into furious overdrive. The Reasonable Voice is silenced by a tidal wave of possessiveness. __Mine, my Uthvir, mine!__  He crowds them up against the wall near the door, and presses aggressively to them. A low growl forms in the back of his throat, the scent of the other Foxes unwelcome even __if__  the notes of heat are somewhat enticing, too. His fingers scramble to pull off their clothing.

 

“Two seconds, Thenvunin, just let me-” Uthvir begins.

 

Thenvunin nips their ear in reproach, and rips their belt with his own claws.

 

But once he has pulled every scrap of clothing off of them, the scent of __other Fox__  stays with it. There are no other scents on their skin. Thenvunin summons up a fire to burn the offending articles, and rubs himself up against them. Doing his level best to get __his__  scent on them, until the rush of possessiveness and lust and the feel of their skin against his own has him coming against their thigh. Their hands clutch his back, a startled sound escaping them as Thenvunin rubs his seed deliberately across their skin; the better to spread his scent.

 

“ _ _Oh,”__  they breathe.

 

The roar of unhappiness in the back of his mind finally eases enough for Thenvunin to relax a little. Uthvir is in his arms, and suddenly he is aware of the fact that they are shorter than he is. That their skin is soft, and their feathers are, too. That their heart is beating fast, and that he has pressed them against the wall - and they do not like to be pinned so.

 

He murmurs an apology, and moves back. Hands careful, gentle, some part of him screaming recrimination for handling them so unkindly as he brushes their cheek and lets go of their hip. Did he bruise them? He looks, fighting past the haze of lust just long enough to see that they seem fine. Apart from all the… the…. ah, __smeared__  onto them, which…

 

He swallows and begs their forgiveness, still fighting the urge to press back towards them. At least until a gleam comes into their eyes, and they resettle themselves against the wall. Then they move one of their legs to his hip, and guide his heavy erection to their entrance. The press of each finger on his over-sensitive skin sends shivers up through him, but the heat of their body - the slick warmth waiting to take him in - is __intoxicating.__

 

Thenvunin manages to hold back just enough to make __sure.__

 

“Go on,” Uthvir whispers. Tightening their grip on his arm, in a reassuring squeeze. Their wings press back against the wall to brace them, and Thenvunin gives in.

 

They are warm as summer and soft as silk, slick and smooth, and aroused enough that he slides into them with little resistance. He groans at the feeling, heart hammering all the faster for the way they arch into him. He rests his forehead against the wall, fighting the urge to just thrust and take and be __relentless,__  never before so keenly away of the precious fragility of feathers, of Uthvir’s own slim form in __his__ arms.

 

They have no Fox ears to lower. But they tilt their chin, bearing their throat to him in a deliberate gestures that pulls a pleading whine from him in return.

 

Oh, __no.__  How is he supposed to resist that?!

 

“You aren’t,” they say, as their nails press against his shoulders.

 

He moves his lips to the crook of their neck, and with a strangled sound caught somewhere between whine and growl, he sinks his teeth into their soft skin, and starts thrusting. The wall trembles, but each slide of him inside of them feel electric. Irresistible, just like the sounds of their breaths catching in his ears, and the taste of their skin against his tongue. Their blood, too, as he laves his tongue apologetically over the bite mark, and does his best to __slow down.__

 

He only partly succeeds.

 

Their inner walls clench around him, fluttering with the rush of their pleasure, but even though Thenvunin follows he is not done. He keeps going, thrusting through the rush of it. Seeking more, and more, until Uthvir’s wings are fluttering and their hands are trembling, and his own legs are straining. Fighting to keep position, until finally he cannot. He takes as much care as he can to bear them down to the floor. Sliding his arms underneath them to keep them propped up, to keep their wings safe, as they settle their legs over his hips and he follows the rhythm of his instincts. Wishing he still had that toy inside of him, as he goes and goes, and spills his seed into them.

 

And oh, but he likes putting it there.

 

Uthvir calls his name in a breathless moan and comes for what is at least the second time - but maybe more. They claim a bite of their own against his shoulder. Again. Needle-sharp teeth such a contrast to the soft give of their insides that it undoes something inside of Thenvunin. He comes with a guilty cry, and a desperate kiss to the wound he placed on them.

 

“Sorry,” he breathes, frantically. Nerves __finally__  settling, fog finally lifting enough for him to feel everything inside of him lurch in concern. “Sorry, I am so sorry, Uthvir, I warned you not to… you shouldn’t have let…”

 

“Shh,” they say. Their legs are trembling, but their fingers are steady in his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Thenvunin. It was good.”

 

He swallows, only slightly soothed. His lips press to the bite mark again.

 

He __hurt__  them.

 

As if reading his thoughts - or maybe he spoke aloud again - Uthvir traces a finger over one of the bite marks they left, in turn.

 

“It was hot,” they tell him.

 

The brazenness is so incongruent, it startles a broken laugh from him. He does not realize that there are tears in his eyes until he hears them in his throat. Uthvir kisses his temple, as he tucks his nose up underneath their chin and struggles with all the warring feelings inside of himself. Not least of which is the Fox that is still preening because Uthvir smells __thoroughly__  like __him,__ now.

 

“Don’t go,” he asks, nevertheless. He has noticed the pattern and he knows that they will and he knows why but he doesn’t want them to, he really doesn’t, Uthvir __never__  leaves him like this and he can’t… __can’t…__

 

They brush a thumb across his cheek.

 

“I’ll stay as long as I can,” they promise him. “Another round, at least.”

 

Thenvunin swallows thickly, and turns his nose to breathe in more of their scent.

 

And tries not to think about it.

 

 

~

 

 

After the Unseasonable Week, Uthvir had vowed to find out more about Fox cycles and needs.

 

Thenvunin is not always… well. He is not always the best at articulating such things, they have noticed. It is usually a force of effort, outside of his season, to get him to admit to even __liking__  things that they have managed to confirm he does, indeed, like. Admissions come slowly, and secretively, and while they would like to respect his preferences, they think it might also be an inadvertent cruelty to wait for him to spell everything out for them.

 

By the end of the eclipse-prompted rut, Thenvunin had been far more of an emotional wreck than Uthvir would have even guessed. He had admitted, in the quiet intimacy of the early aftermath, that Uthvir leaving was hard on him. Harder than they might have guessed, and they had gleaned that it did not only have to do with his physical urges and desires.

 

It was emotional, too. He had felt abandoned.

 

Uthvir fights back the pang of guilt, and reminds themselves that this is why they are __here.__  During the moments when they had left Thenvunin’s side, they had mainly been trying to assist some of the unluckier Foxes caught out off-guard by the onset of their seasons. While many had managed to open portals to their homes and gone from there, still others had been stranded, or taken advantage of. Or inadvertently accosted the wrong people.

 

It was an interesting way to make acquaintances, Uthvir would grant. And it is all how they have managed to find themselves in their current situation - sipping tea across from a seven-tailed Fox, in one of the very fine tea rooms that overlooks a segment of the celestial gardens, at one of the mountain top palaces reserved for the gods and their direct servants.

 

Lord Haninan serves the Harvest Goddess herself, and Uthvir has been given the impression that he is a highly influential - if somewhat eccentric - figure in those circles that rarely intersect with their own. Uthvir had managed to bring him to his lady wife after the Unseasonable Week caught him unawares in the midst of an expedition to some spare corner of the wilderness. Tracking him had not been difficult, and the Fox had shown surprising restraint - compared to some - in not trying to jump Uthvir’s bones the minute they got within grabbing range.

 

When they had begun to make inquiries into finding out more about Fox nature, he had not been their first stop. Nor indeed on their list of likely sources; but somehow, it seems, he had found out about it. And now here they are, sitting across from the curly-furred Fox, sipping hot drinks as the man looks positively intrigued.

 

“Tengu and Fox pairings tend to be rare,” he says. “I am not surprised if the two of you have run into difficulties.”

 

Uthvir pauses, and considers that. While they and Thenvunin have certainly faced a few __challenges,__  they would not think of the relationship as ‘difficult’.

 

“We miscommunicate from time to time,” they concede, before taking a sip of their tea. The wind smells like the petals of late blooming flowers, and Haninan’s tails are spread out behind him like a fan of cushions. His hair is tied in a multitude of braids, and his dark skin looks striking against the pale greens and yellows of his outfit.

 

His wife is a dragon.

 

Uthvir decides not to mention that this seems an even stranger pairing than a Fox and a Tengu, by their reckoning. They are not really here for such topics, anyway.

 

“You said you had some information to offer me?” they prompt, with all due politeness.

 

Haninan nods.

 

“Have you found the spot just above his tail yet?” the old Fox asks them, gesturing towards his own lower back. “Most people figure out that the tails are sensitive rather quick, but that spot is less well-known. It is a cluster of nerves, right above where the fur grows in. Some find it only moderately pleasant, but most Foxes will __melt__  if you rub it just right.”

 

Uthvir blinks.

 

They hadn’t actually come here looking for tips on erogenous zones. But…

 

After a moment, they pull out a small, battered notepad, and a pencil.

 

“Go on,” they say.

 

Haninan beams, and then chuckles outright.

 

“Ah, well,” he says. “Have you groomed him?”

 

“I have,” Uthvir replies.

 

“Good, good,” the man declares. “Nails can be tricky, if you help him trim them make certain you do not cut too far, and keep the beds clean. Every Fox likes a good pedicure. His body is probably __quite__  inviting, but it is still wise to use oils and lotions to keep things slick and easy…”

 

“Of course,” Uthvir says, raising an eyebrow. “That is just basic sense.”

 

Haninan’s grin widens.

 

“I suppose you do not need much help on the physical end of things,” he guesses.

 

Uthvir shrugs.

 

“I did not know about the spot above the tail,” they permit. They also make a note about nails, just in case. Haninan inclines his head, and takes a sip of his own tea. He lets a silent moment fall between them. But Uthvir is not entirely certain how to articulate what they are really after without, potentially, revealing something that Thenvunin might not want disclosed.

 

After a moment, the older Fox fills the silence again.

 

“I take it he did not respond well to you coming and going, all smelling of other Foxes, while he was out-of-sorts?” the man surmises.

 

Uthvir weighs the question for a moment, before plucking up the tea pot to refill their cups.

 

“It would be the scent that upset him?” they ask.

 

“And the leaving,” Haninan confirms, bolstering what little Thenvunin himself had admitted after the fact. “Some Foxes take differently to the season, of course. We are as individual in our minds and spirits as anyone else. I have known a few for whom the height of it last only a few days. Those who channel their energy more towards magic of growth and vitality, and do not feel the dizzyness of lust so keenly, are less apt to lose their heads or suffer from neglecting it. I myself can pass a rut alone without much trouble, but that tends to be the exception to the rule.”

 

“It is distressing for most?” Uthvir presses, discreetly.

 

Haninan shrugs.

 

“Some feel the need for companionship more keenly than others,” he says. “Your young Fox is Thenvunin, Mirena’s little one? A lonely child. I imagine he is susceptible feelings of despair and failure when left untended in his throes. The season can often strip one down to their bare essentials; their rawest nerves.”

 

Uthvir frowns.

 

“I never made a habit of leaving him during it before,” they admit.

 

“Nor should you!” Haninan tells them, more jovially. He takes another drink of his tea, and nods in thanks for the refill. “Within reason, of course. The Unseasonable Week took most of us by surprise, so it could hardly be helped. And I, for one, am quite glad to have had the assistance of a courteous ally.”

 

“Of course.” They nod.

 

Haninan leans back, and taps his chin.

 

“You know, it is curious. Tengu tend to have such __natural__  energy. It is quite a lot like Foxes, actually. I suspect if you keep with him, he will become more relaxed about such things with time. Perhaps not entirely, but enough to take off the edge. Reassurance and love do wonders for the soul.”

 

Uthvir stills at the mention of the word ‘love’. But Haninan carries on, as blithely as if he did not just make a rather bold assumption.

 

They feel a moment’s unease.

 

Is it obvious? Or is the man just the __type__  to assume…?

 

“That would take a long time, however, so there wouldn’t be much for it in the meanwhile. Thenvunin ought to have someone with him during his season; if not you, then another lover. I know many Foxes who maintain a network of persons who are trustworthy and capable lovers during such times. There are a number of exchanges; I suppose all things considered, you might find yourself approached with more than a few invitations. Court has been buzzing with tales of Thenvunin beguiling you, and now you have proven yourself quite chivalrous in your dealings with indisposed and vulnerable Foxes. It might be something to consider; as I recall, Mirena was never the type to take on lovers she had not courted first, and I doubt Thenvunin is much different. But you may not always be available to tend to his needs yourself.”

 

The thought rankles, for some reason. Uthvir can see the logic of it - and in truth, that __would__  explain the odd number of messengers their household servants have been reporting, leaving missives from various Foxes whom Uthvir did not even __meet__  during The Week. But they do not like the insinuation that they would neglect Thenvunin’s needs, or be unable of meeting them.

 

The memory of returning from their fifth trip out to find him weeping inconsolably brings them up short, though.

 

…They might not __like__  it, but perhaps Haninan is not wrong.

 

“I will take it under consideration,” they allow. “Tell me more about scents, and how they play into things. If you would.”

 

“Oh, but of course I would!” the Fox agrees, cheerily. “Scents are __marvelous.__  Foxes have one of the best senses of smell, you know. After Wolves of course. It can be quite a thing to play with, though I would caution some care with it. Foxes in lustful states can be reckless, even aggressive, if the wrong notes are hit. During one’s season it is usually wise to just smell like them. That helps keep things calm, and grounded. He will like it if you smell like him, and vice versa, and sometimes being able to scent your lover is more important than being able to see them. Though, that has a lot of variation. Personally I always find it better to have my Ireth in sight. Out of season, though, it is much more appealing to play around with such things. It is often considered a common game of flirtation to carry an item that smells like another’s arousal, among young Foxes. A scarf, usually. It gets the blood pumping, entices your lover to come and replace the scent with their own. If the scent is on your skin, though, then it can get more complicated. A less fraught lovers’ game is to wear the scent of __their__  arousal, of course. Once my Ireth kept a scrap of fabric that I had spent myself on, and tucked it into a pocket. I spent the entire day wanting nothing more than to renew it, as the hours passed and it began to fade…”

 

Haninan sighs nostalgically.

 

Uthvir adds several new notes to their booklet.

 

“I have been trying to keep him fed and watered during the rut, to make certain he is not weakened,” they venture. “But he does not usually… er. Like to pause?”

 

The older Fox laughs.

 

“Yes, that is normal,” he says. “The season puts us in a one-track mind, most times. Some Foxes scarcely eat or drink throughout it at all, though that usually means a lot more recovery time is needed. It is important to look after him. It is a very vulnerable time, very easy for him to become hurt or damaged, to be neglected and to suffer. That is the downside of it all, of course. The pleasures and euphoria can be unlike all others, but so can the pain and misery.”

 

They fall silent as they contemplate that.

 

Haninan sighs again, and taps the tabletop.

 

“But you can only do your best,” he assures them. “Bone broth is very good. Drinking is usually easier than eating. His favourite foods will also entice him more, so I would go to pains to find out what those are. Force-feeding can be very traumatic, though, so if he prefers to do without, you should know that it is rarely fatal. Particularly not for a healthy Fox. Water matters more than food, but all the renewed magical energies can keep things stable. And bribery tends to work very well when a Fox is in a state of wanting… certain things, __very__  badly.”

 

“So I have noticed,” they reply, wryly.

 

It earns them a chuckle.

 

“Is it normal for ruts to last longer sometimes?” Uthvir asks, thinking on it. “The first few times with him, it only seemed to last seven days. But now it usually takes nine or even ten before he seems to even out again…”

 

Haninan blinks.

 

His lips twitch, then. And a knowing gleam comes into his eyes.

 

“Oh, I think you must be doing quite alright with that, then,” he says. “A rut is a rut; it almost never changes length. But sometimes they still last longer.”

 

Uthvir raises an eyebrow.

 

“You mean to say, he is just enjoying the attention?” they surmise.

 

“I would not judge him too harshly for it. From what I have heard, he has not had much luck in such things,” he confirms, cheerfully.

 

“I hardly mind,” they agree. And it is probably best not to mention it, not unless they __need__  to, anyway. They would not want him to shy away from it.

 

In point of fact, one of their favourite things about Thenvunin’s ruts is often the few days that follow the rush of it all, when his libido drops down and there is nothing for them to do but rest and recover. Thenvunin boneless and sweet, often more open to talking of things, or even just… lying close to them, with their limbs tangled and his hands tracing lazy patterns across their skin.

 

Only because it is a lot easier to handle, after all the rigorous fucking beforehand, of course. Everyone needs a chance to catch their breath.

 

Lord Haninan looks __far__  too knowing.

 

“I think you will do alright,” he opines. “But if you have any further questions, I would be happy to answer them.”

 

“I will keep that in mind,” Uthvir agrees, wry again as they finish their last cup of tea.

 


End file.
